


A Dark Place (Lucifer x Reader)

by sondepoch



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Completed, Contracts, Exploring feelings, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Mutual Pining, Prostitute Reader, Prostitution, Rags to Riches, Slight adult themes, Trust, eventual wholesome, fem reader - Freeform, forbiddenish love, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sondepoch/pseuds/sondepoch
Summary: You don’t like Lucifer at first. You entertain him, yes, but only because that’s your job as a prostitute.But one thing leads to another, and it’s not long before you’re his personal courtesan, entertaining him privately in his own home. Except for the fact that he never touches you. And he refuses all your advances. And he seems to have forgotten that he’s paying you to be his prostitute.But somewhere along the line, you, too, forget that you’re his private escort. And inevitably, as you spend more and more time together—a love begins to bloom.Which would be wonderful, if romantic feelings hadn’t been expressly forbidden in your contract.
Relationships: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character & Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 180





	1. Part 1

A demon like him doesn't belong in a brothel.

That's your first thought, anyway.

 _Strange_ , you know. _But it's true nonetheless._

In the dim lighting that tries to hide the cracks in the swollen, wooded walls of the whorehouse, this particular demon seems to shine with his own light as his scornful eyes glance over the scene before him.

Disdain.

You've seen it on your clients' faces before, usually right before they walk out of this brothel and into a better one—which is hardly difficult to find. These are the slums of the Devildom, and prostitution runs rampant like a plague that every succubus is slowly dying of, but it's a slow death and the lot of you are still alive, so none of you have left the profession quite yet.

But this demon doesn't look like he belongs in _any_ brothel, not a cheap one like this or even the high-end bordellos that supposedly exist in the upper rungs of demon society.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, not missing the way his jaw clenches as he forces himself to take another step inside. Perhaps, a few centuries ago, you might have found it in you to be offended at his blatant disgust. But now, all you do is observe the man as he hides a shudder of repulsion.

The demon himself is rather attractive. He carries himself with the composure of someone older than he looks, so you don't bother guessing how many millennia he has under his belt, but he's certainly an improvement from your usual clientele. Dark hair and pale skin, he looks entirely flawless as he stands before you. His red eyes catch the light, darting from place to place. 

His gaze never lingers on any place too long, as if he knows that staring for a moment longer than he has to will send another shiver of disgust up his spine.

The brothel isn't especially dingy today—you might go as far as to call this a good day, given that none of the candles have run out and no obnoxious clients are harassing the workers. The room is quieter than normal—every eye in the establishment locked onto the repulsed demon's figure, the female prostitutes next to you sliding the straps of their dresses lower on their shoulders, flaunting their necks seductively while gazing at the man with coquettish eyes. The song playing on the radio ends, switching to a loud and obnoxious advertisement, only adding to the _cheap_ feeling of the brothel.

Behind you, your manager doesn't turn his attention away from the intruding demon. You'd ask about it, but your boss seems to know something that you don't about this alluring man who refuses to take another step inside.

"This place is filthy."

You raise your eyes, an amused smile on your face at the demon's words. It's not rare for a man to come inside and insult all of you for your profession, but this demon doesn't look like he's doing it to be spiteful. "The floorboards look like they're about to collapse, these walls have cracks in them, and I can smell the stench of stale Demonus from where I stand."

_Ah. He's here to check if the brothel is maintaining the health codes raised by Lord Diavolo._

That makes much more sense. You doubt a demon like this would set foot inside a whorehouse unless it were for something like his job. Sighing lightly, you return your attention to the small television in the corner, waiting for one of your regular clients to come in so that you can finish up for the night.

"Aren't inspectors supposed ta give us notice before they come or somethin'?" Your manager asks gruffly, a silent glare on his face as he watches the intruding demon. "This ain't right, comin' in here without tellin' us nuthin'."

"I've heard reports about this brothel. You run one of the worst establishments in the entire Devildom." _That much is true_ , you can't help but think. This is quite literally the cheapest, shoddiest, shittiest brothel in the world. Then again, what does he expect? These are the _slums_. "I came here to let you know what needs to be fixed by next week when I come for my formal inspection. To stay in business, you'll need to repair the floorboards, fix the walls—or at least _cover_ the cracks with something—get rid of this _stench_ , and fix these awful lights."

The demon shakes his head, disappointment heavy on his face as he frowns. No doubt, he knows that your manager won't be able to make all those fixes, _even_ if the demon takes your (and the rest of the prostitutes') pay for the remainder of the week. Seven days from now, you'll see him again and he'll have to close this business, leaving you and the rest of the girls to find new employers. That, or starve to death on the streets. Both are equally likely.

"Wait!" Your manager exclaims, desperation present in his voice. "You—you don't wanna stay for an hour or nuthin'? These girls are the _best_ in the district. If ya spend a night with one of 'em, I'm sure you'll wanna change yer mind about closin' us down."

You wince at your manager's words. Not only is it a blatant lie to call any of you the "best in the district," but you half-expect this demon to be offended at the very suggestion that he bed one of you. You recognize his type. There's nothing _cheap_ about him. His suit easily costs more than you've made in your entire life.

But much to your surprise, the demon in question raises his eyebrows at the suggestion, eyes skirting over all the women in the room, searching for one who piques his interest.

"It' s—it's free of charge!" Your manager tries to say, a tentative smile forming on his lips the moment he senses that the demon _might_ take up his offer. But he is quickly shut down.

"I don't need your bribes."

And yet, the demon doesn't leave. Everyone in the room watches with bated breath as the demon inspector's eyes flit from face to face, dress to dress, girl to girl.

The last thing you expect is for him to stop on you.

Or rather, it's more like he stops when his eyes settle on your necklace, the thick choker that's been wrapped around your neck for the past two thousand years. The demon seems puzzled by it—and for good reason.

You arch your neck subtly, letting the light catch the _real_ diamond centered on it as the demon approaches you, his eyes never leaving its shine. It's probably the most expensive thing in the room, maybe in all of the slums.

"Your necklace…" The demon begins.

"It's not for sale."

You pull a seductive smile to your face, going as far as to allow yourself to trail a finger against the demon's chest. You don't falter when you feel how _hard_ it is—a stark contrast to your usual ragtag clients.

"A night with me, on the other hand…" You smile up at him, confidence radiating off your body as you quietly whisper your rate into his ear, the words hidden from your fellow workers by only the sound of the obnoxious radio, which has now switched back to playing music.

The demon grabs your wrist, yanking your hand away from his chest.

"I'll pay you a thousand times that much."

You blink in shock, the surprised sputters of girls around you only furthering your stupor as you practically gawk at the demon.

"Aw, come on!" Your manager cries from behind you. "If ya wanna pay her that much, can't ya at least keep us in business? Curse you, ya damn noble!"

Both you and the demon in front of you ignore your manager's words, the man finally having let go of your wrist. But he doesn't break eye contact.

"Well?" He asks impatiently, snapping your attention back onto him. "Are you interested?"

Internally, you want to jump up and down. You want to shout yes into his ears and drag him to your room out back, show him the time of his life. But at the same time, your hatred for the rich runs too deep for you to give him the privilege of seeing you so eager.

You study his face, not missing the strain of his eyes as he forces himself to glare at you, rather than taking in the shape of your body the way he so _obviously_ wants to.

You smirk. You can afford to play with this one a little bit.

"Are you sure you can afford me?" You lean forward, drawing dangerously close to the demon's face, not missing the downward curve of his lips as you publicly question him. "It'd be real embarrassing for you if you came up short. It's already sad enough to see a proud guy like you awkwardly getting dressed with his limp cock sagging around, but to have you all covered in cum _and_ be unable to pay the full price? You might want to think twice about this."

Next to you, you hear a girl stifle her laughter at the very image.

"I can pay," the demon seethes, his grip on your wrist growing dangerously tight as he scowls down at you. You can practically feel the angry _pride_ radiating off of him, and how furious he is at you for questioning him. And as much as you want to furthertease him, the words _a thousand times the usual rate_ ring in your ear, and you can't risk it anymore.

"Then we have a deal," You whisper, effortlessly leading him out back where your private room is.

Your quarters are small, but you've taken efforts to make it comfortable. The walls are painted a light red, but they look pink in the soft candles that burn with the scent of sandalwood. As usual, your bed is perfectly made, with fresh sheets and crisp blankets, and you don't waste a second in arriving before closing the door and sliding the straps of your dress off.

The sound of the cheap fabric hitting the floor pulls the demon's attention away from your room and back onto you.

His breath hitches.

"Like what you see?" You ask, an arm on your hip as you jut one side out confidently, smirking at the demon. You don't miss the way his eyes widen, and you realize that he probably expected you to be wearing underwear. But what prostitute has need of such restricting cloths when they only prevent one from doing their job?

You take two steps forward, pushing the demon onto the bed as you straddle him.

"What's your name, hm?" You lean forward, licking his neck the way you were trained, settling over a spot you like while unbuttoning his red shirt. "Or if you want, I could call you something else. Master, or Sir, or…" You lean back, studying his face, trying to figure out what kind of nickname this man prefers in bed. "Or _daddy."_

You rock your hips a little lower, straddling his waist so that you can pull his shirt off his chest and you're moving to take one of his nipples into your mouth when he flips you over with more strength than any demon you've ever seen—and then he's the one on top of you, staring down at you with cold eyes as his fingers settle on your thighs.

"You will call me Lucifer," He orders, "And you will _beg me_ for forgiveness for what you said outside."

"Lucif— _Lucifer?!"_

Your eyes go wide, and suddenly you're frozen on the bed as you stare at the demon above you.

_How did you not realize it earlier?_

You bring your eyes up to his and remember what you identified before in the twin rubies.

_Pride._

Midnight black hair. Skin pale as the moonlight. Eyes redder than blood. You've heard his description so many times before, so how did you not realize it was _him?!_

You swallow nervously, all your earlier confidence dissipated as you realize that one of the strongest demons in the Devildom is gripping your thighs. The Avatar of Pride could kill you in a second if he so chooses, and no one would even realize you're gone.

You fearfully glance back up at the demon's eyes, and you see the cruel amusement in his expression as he watches your internal struggle. And then all the resentment you feel for the rich, noble caste of demons comes rushing back, and you even forget that he's paying to you have sex with him—nothing but rage and anger and _resentment_ fueling your next words:

"Make me."

***

You should have thought twice about testing one of the most powerful demons in hell.

His strengths may lie along the lines of whatever entails being the right-hand man of Lord Diavolo, but you should have known better than to think that your stupid pride would be able to hold you together when you explicitly told Lucifer to break you apart.

You can hardly think anymore, hardly think or move or do anything but listen to the sound of Lucifer's heavy breathing.

He made you beg.

He brought you to the brink of orgasm time and time again, bringing you closer and closer to what you _knew_ would be the strongest climax of your life before reigning you back in until the only words that left your lips were various iterations of "Fuck me" and "Please" and the occasional "Fuck you" whenever Lucifer would pull away.

Back then, you at least _knew_ what you were begging for. Later, when Lucifer finally gave in to your babbling pleas and shoved his dick inside you, you forgot whether you wanted him to continue or to stop as he brought you, over and over again, through orgasm, crashing your body through one only to pull you into another until you could do nothing but moan desperately as the demon had his way with your body.

 _Edging and overstimulation_ , you remember thinking, cursing the demon for combining them into one session. _Fucking sadist_ , you think, your exhausted eyes watching Lucifer's form as he leans back, his fingers still digging into your thighs.

You suppose it's a bit of your fault for riling him up so much earlier. He made it clear that every tear you shed was payback for ridiculing him in front of all your workers, that every mind-breaking sensation was his revenge. But hell, if you knew what Lucifer was planning on putting your body through from the start, you would have played the perfect sub, your hatred for nobles be damned.

Now, he looks at your form, presumably able to feel the ongoing tremble in your legs, and the demon has the audacity to _laugh._

"Not so proud anymore, hm?" He chuckles breathlessly, sitting up straight, and you can't help but think how unfair it is that you don't have the strength to do the same.

"Fuck you," You mutter halfheartedly. Back before you'd had sex with him, you might have thought twice about insulting the Avatar of Pride. Now, though? You're quite confident that your resistance only further turns him on.

"I'm sure you want to," He murmurs, leaning forward to place a taunting kiss against one of the brutal hickeys he's marked your neck with. "But I doubt your body can take a round two."

 _He's right about that_.

But you don't say the thought aloud, ignoring the demon with a huff as his hand slides up from your thigh to your neck, his thumb grazing over the diamond in the center.

You smile, the beginnings of your usual confidence just starting to return now that you're no longer helplessly begging for demon dick. You watch as his eyes focus on the centerpiece, staring at it with furrowed eyebrows.

You chuckle.

Men are always enchanted by anything that shines, be it the eyes of a woman or the gemstone of a necklace.

"Why haven't you sold this?" He asks, pulling his gaze up to your eyes. "You'd make enough money to get out of the slums. You wouldn't need to work as a prostitute. You're not a very good one, but it's all the same."

You scoff at his words, pushing his hand away from your necklace.

"It's my necklace. My choice what I do with it."

The demon lets out a low chuckle when you draw yourself into an upright position and pull your knees up, almost as if you're trying to hide the necklace from him.

"Relax," He murmurs, turning away from you. "I'm not going to try to buy something that ugly off of you. Just giving you ideas for what you might want to do when I conduct my formal inspection and I have to close this brothel down next week."

"You're actually going to do that?" You scowl. "Can't you just leave this place be?"

"Not quite." He pauses, almost like he's hesitating. "But I _can_ help you."

You turn to Lucifer, an eyebrow raised. It's a silent message: _Go on?_

"Leave the slums. Come with me. Be my private entertainer, and—"

"Your _private entertainer?"_ You flinch back, distaste rising to your face at the very thought. "Your personal prostitute, you mean? Your exclusive cockslut?!" You're positive that you must be scowling now, and suddenly it doesn't even matter that your legs are still trembling because you withdraw from Lucifer completely, anger blinding you to everything but _him._

"It'll be a better life for you. You won't need to worry about anything. You'll be provided with food, shelter, comfort, clothing, and whatever else your heart desires. Surely—"

"Get the fuck out."

You force yourself to your feet, pointing at the door.

"You're a prostitute," Lucifer continues, trying to get you to see his reasoning. "The life I am proposing for you is better than the one you have."

"The life you are proposing is one where I have _no_ autonomy over my body. You are asking me to sell you my body _permanently_ and _exclusively_ , and even _I_ am not foolish enough to think that you won't try to make me—"

"It won't be permanent," Lucifer interrupts, grabbing your wrists. The motion effectively forces you to look him in the eyes as he continues, and as much as you hate to admit it, his eyes look sincere. "I won't purchase your body, I'll still be purchasing your time. An hourly fee. But around the clock. Every hour you're not fucking another demon—"

 _"Lucifer,"_ You warn, frown deepening. But the demon continues.

"—Every hour you're not fucking another demon, I'll pay you. One thousand times your usual rate. You'll be free to leave whenever you wish, and we can even bind ourselves with a contract if you want. I promise you, I will not force you into anything."

You remain silent as Lucifer stares at you, refusing to say a word as he awaits your response.

"Get _out_ ," You repeat, not even looking at him.

He stays for a moment, almost as if that single second of time will be what you need to go forth and accept his offer, but he finally stands up and begins buttoning his shirt up—never having fully taken all his clothes off during his entire session with you.

"Think about it," He says, voice softer. You hear the sound of something dropping on the bed next to you, but you ignore it and wordlessly point to the door. He continues, but you're barely listening. "It could be your ticket to a better life."

Then, the sound of retreating footsteps falls upon your ears and, with the sound of a closing door, you're positive that he's gone.

 _Finally,_ you think, your body hitting the bed as you groan. You're not sure what's worse: the soreness of your muscles or the fact that Lucifer actually made you feel _good._

Though, even as you tiredly drag yourself to the bathroom to get cleaned up, mind filled to the brim with thoughts of _Why aren't my hips bruised?_ and _When did he bite me here?_ and _How the fuck is it possible for my thighs to be THIS sore?!_ , you can only try to ignore the larger notion dancing through the back of your mind: the foolish, ridiculous notion that it might be worth entertaining Lucifer's proposal.

 _No,_ you think. _I won't._

But with the brothel shutting down in six days, how much of a choice do you really have?

***

The next six days should have passed by easily. Easily, if you'd given in to temptation. Normally, if you'd been frugal. Comfortably, if you hadn't. Lavishly, if you'd dared to allow yourself to completely indulge.

But you haven't indulged, you haven't even allowed yourself to _touch_ the Grimm that Lucifer dumped onto your bed as he left, save for when you locked it away into a box hidden beneath your bed.

You'd done it to prove a point to yourself.

To prove, somewhat foolishly, that you would be able to survive just fine without Lucifer's money. Without his _one-thousand-times-the-usual-rate_ payment and without his stupid offer to allow you to become his 'private entertainer.'

So while the six days following his departure _should_ have passed by easily, you didn't allow yourself to spend a single coin from his money.

And so those six days were among the most tortuous ones you've endured in this century. And as much as you want that to be an exaggeration, it isn't.

Somehow, the day after Lucifer left, you found that you had run out of food. You rushed off to the market immediately with a handful of Grimm, but prices had been raised in fear of an incoming drought and you barely had enough to pay for two days' worth of food. Pulling the ruffled collar of your dress down to expose cleavage only did so much to the wary merchant, and you walked away with three days' worth of food and thoughts of your managers' demands for rent weighing heavily on your mind.

By the fourth day, you were out of food and out of money. All profits you'd made off of customers in the brothel had been taken when your manager demanded that all his employees pay rent upfront or be kicked out, and by the fifth day, you were fucking your customers on an empty stomach.

By the sixth day, you've lost hope altogether.

Sighing, you pull the box out from underneath your bed as you stare at all the Grimm inside. _All of it from Lucifer_ , you think. _Lucifer and his ridiculous spending habits._ You click your tongue disapprovingly. _Offering to pay around the clock at one thousand times the rate—these damn nobles have too much money._

The sound of your grumbling stomach interrupts your thoughts, and you groan. You can survive without food. You're certain of that much. But it'll be painful. And with all this Grimm taunting you in the box...taking a little, to feed your empty stomach, can't hurt, right?

_No!_

You reprimand yourself internally, crossing your arms. If you have to use Lucifer's money to survive, that's akin to admitting that you need his patronage. His support. His _offer_ , his vile offer to make you his personal slut.

You can't allow that to happen. It's not just your pride talking, but every fiber of self-preservation speaking. If you accept his offer, you're no better than the rest of the prostitutes who use nobles to climb the ranks of society, relying on others instead of yourself.

But…

Your stomach grumbles once more, and the Grimm in front of you almost seems to _shine_ in sync with the pain of your abdomen.

"Fucking hell," You curse, slamming your fist against the floor. "I hate that bastard."

Almost as if the gods are watching over you, a knock raps against your door in response.

"Yeah?" You call, trying to hide the frustration from your voice.

"Someone's requesting you out front." You recognize the tone of one of your coworkers, a succubus who's never quite liked you. "Should I tell him you're busy or—"

"I've got it!" You respond, yanking your door open. You don't want to give this girl an excuse to steal any of your clients, not when you _need_ the money so much. You don't miss the way her mouth twitches downward at your immediate response, but you follow her into the main room nonetheless.

She gestures to the right, pointing vaguely and mumbling as she identifies the customer who requested you specifically—but you hardly need her to tell you who it was that asked for you.

Just like the first time you saw him, Lucifer stands out in this stingy brothel, his expression of disdain now completely unmasked as he stares at the filthy surroundings.

"Lucifer," You mutter, crossing your arms as you approach him.

"Ah, there you are." He smiles pleasantly as he greets you, following you readily as you take him out back to where your room is. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Afraid I can't say the same," You mutter, yanking open the door. You cringe when you realize that the box of money is still open on the floor; in your haste to open the door, you had completely forgotten about hiding it under your bed.

"Is that so?" Lucifer questions as he walks forward, inspecting the box. "It doesn't look like you've spent a single Grimm of my payment to you. I'm almost offended."

"Good."

Lucifer crosses his arm and seats himself on your bed, evidently comfortable in your room now that it's his second time returning. You bite back your scowl.

"You know, for a woman who sells herself to men, you're doing a poor job of making me want to buy you."

"You're already paying for my time, _asshole."_

Lucifer sighs, crossing his arms as a slight frown appears on his face. "Is that so?" He asks, outstretching his arms. Instinctively, you step forward into them. You might not like this guy after his far too _bold_ request, but he's still paying for you so you can't very well turn him away.

You half expect him to tug you onto the bed, to bend you over his lap and spank you for your rudeness with the same precise roughness that he handled you with last time, but all he does is rest his hands on your waist while he looks up at you. His eyes seem almost sad.

"You were much more polite with me last time, if I recall."

"Last time, you hadn't asked me to be your private whore."

"And yet, you've allowed me to purchase you for another night. Why, I wonder?"

You purse your lips, remaining silent. A plan forms in your mind where you think of different ways to dominate Lucifer, different ways to push him against the bed and turn _him_ into the writhing mess. But before you can even move, your stomach grumbles once more, a cruel betrayal as your body confesses what your lips refused to.

"I see," Lucifer responds, chuckling. He pulls you onto his lap, like you're nothing more than a child he's consoling. "When was the last time you ate, my dear? Hm?"

You turn your head away, almost about to curse him with another _Fuck you_ , but then your stomach betrays you once more and you can only hang your head in shame.

There's a moment of silence, and then when Lucifer begins speaking once more, all the teasing tones from his voice are gone, leaving nothing but a gentle kindness. One so soft, you might almost believe it to be _genuine_ if not for the fact that this is still the man who requested you to be his private prostitute.

"My offer still stands. It's in your best interest." When you say nothing, he continues. "How much will it take for you to accept? I've already told you I'll pay you one thousand times whatever you normally charge people. Scratch that, I'll pay you two thousand times. No, three thousand times. Will that convince you?"

"I don't want…"

"Four thousand times your usual? Five thousand times?" Lucifer's voice is rising now, and you can sense anger seeping into his words. No doubt, your blatant refusal of his offer when it's so _clearly_ the best thing a common prostitute like you could have going for you is damaging his pride, the last thing anyone should be doing to the infamous _Lucifer,_ of all demons.

"Six thousand times! No, forget that. I'll pay you _ten thousand times_ whatever—"

"Lucifer!" You exclaim, mortified. You can't tell _why_ you're so horrified, whether it's at the shock of a demon throwing around these numbers so frivolously when they clearly mean nothing to him or out of horror from the fact that a single man can have so much wealth when there's an entire slums district living in extreme poverty. "Are you out of your mind?! Does money mean nothing to you?"

"Am _I_ out of my mind?" He retorts, standing up to his full height. Instantly, you sense the atmosphere of the room shift as Lucifer's demon form manifests, wholly terrifying as he towers over your frame, _wrath_ embedded in his features deeper than the black diamond marking his forehead. "What in seven hells is wrong with you? I am offering you something everyone else in these slums would _kill_ for, and you continue to deny me on the basis of what? Your pride?" Lucifer scoffs, seeming to calm down as disdain seeps into his expression once more. "I am offering you a way out, a _true_ way out of this life. Every second you deny my offer makes you a bigger fool."

"Shut up," You scowl, voice only mildly restrained after Lucifer's show of power. "It's _easy_ for you to talk big since you're Lord Diavolo's _right-hand man_ , but you can't possibly understand how commonfolk in the Devildom feel, so don't try!"

Lucifer groans, almost hissing as he turns his body away from you. "I'm giving you a way _out!_ Why can't you see that I'm simply trying to help you?!"

"We're demons! We don't simply _help_ one another, there are always strings fucking attached, and you haven't given me a single reason to trust you!"

You cross your arms and turn away from Lucifer, huffing impatiently as you try to ignore the continued gnawing sensation in your stomach.

Your mind is so focused on blocking out the pain that you don't even notice the sound of Lucifer's footsteps approaching until he rests his hands against your shoulder, holding your back against his chest as he quietly squeezes the tension from your shoulder blades.

"Make a pact with me," He says quietly. "Whatever terms you want. If you can't trust my word, then trust the pact to hold me to it."

"Why?" You ask, turning around to face him. You know your face must be the epitome of confusion and hesitance, the epitome of _weakness_ , but you don't shy away as the demon stares into your eyes. "Why are you so hell-bent on making me your 'private entertainer' or whatever you called it? I'm hardly anything special for a prostitute, so why?"

Lucifer laughs quietly, a warm sound that you almost think you like.

"Why not?" He asks, raising his palm.

You stare at the extended hand briefly, wondering whether you should place your own palm against it or whether you should turn him away. But finally, the gnawing sensation in your stomach combined with the expectant look in Lucifer's eye prompts you to place your hand against his, and a soft light fills the room as both your magics begin are pulled forth.

His is stronger than yours, the Morningstar almost overpowering you as he says the sacred words that precede all pacts, but you feel your own magic grow stronger as you repeat them back to him, and then the contract has already begun to form. You close your eyes as a shudder travels through your body, carrying a wave of Lucifer's magic from your head to toe.

"I do solemnly swear to honor our words," Lucifer vows, to which you nod quietly. "I swear to release you from this contract the moment you request it, to do you no harm unless you permit it, to fully compensate you for every minute you remain under my care."

"You will not touch me without my consent," You tell Lucifer, and he nods.

"I will not touch you without your explicit consent." And you feel his magic pulsate in response to the words, a quiet affirmation that the terms have been added to the contract.

"And you will not use your magic on me to make me want to stay with you," You warn, trying to figure out any other loopholes he might use. You want this contract to be a quick thing: to be his for a short few years until you've acquired all the Grimm you could possibly need, and then to dissolve the contract and live the remainder of your life comfortably outside the slums, building a life of your own to support not only yourself but to help others rise out of this district of poverty.

"I will not use my magic on you to manipulate your mind," Lucifer confirms. "Anything else?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You…" You trail off, hesitating. Are there any other issues that could possibly arise, that Lucifer hasn't already explicitly forbidden? "You will not fall in love with me."

It's a stupid addition, something that you probably wouldn't have said if you'd thought twice. You're nothing more than a common prostitute from the slums, not even an especially good one, though you like to think you have a quicker wit than most others. But that's hardly enough to warrant Lucifer ever falling in love with you.

Yet still, he nods his head solemnly and adds your request to the contract.

"I will not fall in love with you," He confirms, and then it seems that the magic between you two has fully intertwined and he can _sense_ that you're done with your demands, because he smiles gently and squeezes your palm.

There's a fleeting moment of hesitation, when you wonder whether this is truly a smart thing for you to do.

But then you squeeze his palm back, and all you can think about it the overwhelming sense of power that washes over you as your pact with Lucifer is completed, the two of you bound to each other by the very terms just specified.

For a moment, you hold your breath. Waiting silently for Lucifer to do something. To laugh evilly and mock you for believing in him. To prove that his intentions were dishonorable all along, to prove your earlier suspicions true.

But the only thing the demon does is step back as he glances around the room, his hand leaving yours cold and empty.

"Well then, are you ready to go?" He asks, and you don't even bother to gather your things—the only item you have a sentimental attachment to is your necklace, and it's firmly attached around your throat as it has been for the past eight centuries.

You nod at the demon.

And then the familiar sensation of his magic washes over you as he whisks you away to what will be your new home, bringing you out of the slums for the first time to see a glimpse of the world you've heard so much about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 6.0k
> 
> Notes: AhhhHH okay so yeah i havent been writing much for a while :( classes, work, and friend stuff all started up at the same time and i was totally out of it (omg i havent worked out in 2 weeks and my abs are gone nooooo) BUT i finally got back onto a schedule which means i have clear hours where i am free, aka WRITING TIME :D i want to release as much content as i can this summer - so its time to get the ball rolling!
> 
> Comment & Leave Kudos
> 
> Next Update: 6/26/20
> 
> I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.


	2. Part 2

"I just don't understand why he purchased me," You confess, crossing your arms shyly as a small frown makes its way onto your face. You stare at the cluttered floor, averting your eyes from the blonde in front of you. "It's like he's changed completely. He doesn't even touch me, much less _look_ at me."

At your words, Satan sighs, turning his attention away from organizing the books on his table. He leans back on the desk and waits, his sharp gaze compelling you to look back up at him. "Lucifer is probably uncomfortable," He explains. "Other than Asmo, none of us have brought anyone back to the house. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't like the idea of having sex with the rest of us in nearby rooms. And Lucifer is absolutely the kind of fickle asshat to purchase a prostitute and neglect her afterward."

Satan mutters that last part under his breath, and you can't help but laugh. Since arriving in the House of Lamentation two weeks ago, you've grown used to Satan's quiet resolution to irritate Lucifer unto the ends of time, used to all the brothers, in fact.

There are Mammon and Levi, who always blush when they make eye contact with you but steal glances at your body when they think you're not looking. Beel, who approved of you the night you offered him a midnight snack when you went looking for Lucifer's study. Belphie and Asmo, who never fail to wink at you and ask if you want a night with them—though Lucifer always shuts them down. And of course, there's the blonde demon himself, whom you've somehow grown especially close to on nights like these, when Lucifer works late in his study and Satan is the only demon awake to keep you company.

"I guess," You respond, sighing. "But at this point, I'm closer to _you_ than I am to Lucifer. Which isn't really..." You trail off, not wanting to accidentally say anything to offend the Avatar of Wrath.

"I know," Satan chuckles. "But the only reason you're close to me is because you _come_ to me. If you genuinely want to understand Lucifer and why he purchased you, then perhaps you should go to his room instead?"

You groan, knowing that Satan is right. But talking to Lucifer is easier said than done.

"Shall I take you to his study?" The demon offers, sensing your hesitation.

And as much as you want to shake your head and retreat into your room (or Lucifer's room, technically), you force yourself to nod.

It's rather unsurprising when the place Satan takes you to has a secret entryway, the door hidden by the bookshelves of the library. You suppress a smile, amused. This explains why you've never been able to find Lucifer during your nightly searches for him.

"I'll leave you to it," Satan murmurs into your ear, gently pushing you into the room and closing the door behind you. You almost reach out to him, but he closes the door before you can act upon your second thoughts, and then the only sound in the room is the quick scribbles of Lucifer's pen as he finishes another line on your report.

You turn your attention to him, but Lucifer hasn't even looked up, a bored expression fixed on his face as he continues to fill the page with ink.

Finally, when he makes it clear that he won't be acknowledging your presence, you take it into your own hands to do so.

"Lucifer?" Your voice is hesitant. You hate how weak and unsure you sound, but you're uncertain whether you've crossed a line with finding him here in his hidden study. "Erm. Can we talk?"

The demon continues writing for a little bit, presumably finishing his sentence, before he sets his pen down. It's another moment before he looks up, but when he does, his expression is neutral and he leans back in his chair.

"Have a seat."

You hesitate, not knowing what he means. It would hardly be the first time one of your clients has asked you to sit in their lap, but Lucifer doesn't really look the type...then again, you are his personal escort, so wouldn't such activity be expected of you? But then, at the same time, he hasn't exactly expressed any interest in touching you either.

"In a chair," The demon deadpans, an eyebrow raised as he instantly recognizes your internal dilemma.

_Ah. That settles it, then._

You walk forward, renewed confidence overtaking you, and somewhere between the time it takes you to take your seat, you manage to ask the question that's been on your mind for the past two weeks.

"Why did you buy me?" Your arms are crossed. You don't let the softness of the seat distract you from your purpose.

"I wanted to," Lucifer justifies, an amused expression on his face at your evident irritation. "Why? Were you hoping that this arrangement would be different?"

"No! It's—it's just—"

"You were hoping that you'd get to have sex with me more often, is that it?" Lucifer smirks as he nods to himself, and you're suddenly so mortified that you don't even notice the teasing glint in his eyes as he continues to mess with you. "We can, you know." He pats his lap. "Come over and sit here, and I'll give you all the mindblowing sex you could possibly want."

Your mouth practically drops at the suggestion. "What?!" You scowl. "No! That's not how this works. It—it isn't _me_ asking _you_ for sex, but _you_ asking _me!"_ Why is he turning this around on you? You fight back your embarrassment to glare at Lucifer.

"Are you sure about that, love?" He teases. "Because it seems that you've just searched me out, not the other way around."

You let out a choked sound, a mix of a whine of frustration and a groan of anger, and your fist tightens.

"Relax, I'm just teasing." Lucifer doesn't bother hiding the light laugh that escapes his lips as you glare at him.

"Fuck you."

"We've already confirmed that you want to, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait."

Ignoring his subtle jab, you raise your eyebrows at the information. "Why? What's got you _so_ busy that you haven't even come to your room to sleep for the past two weeks?"

"Paperwork," He gestures to the stack on his desk. "Being Lord Diavolo's right-hand man is a prestigious title, but the occupation is little more than handling all the issues too minor for the prince, himself. And this entire nation is filled with demons that are up to no trouble, so there's little opportunity to relax. Much less, sleep."

You smile lightly, beginning to understand why you've seen Lucifer so little.

"And yet you still managed to find time to visit the brothel I worked at," You joke.

"That was different. I was there for work, to check if it was up to date on the health codes," Lucifer justifies quickly. You shoot him a knowing smirk, and he glances away, a little flustered. "...at first. What, don't look at me like that. I only went there twice."

You laugh lightly and stand up from your seat, walking around his desk to behind his chair. "You're stressed," You tell him, placing your hands on his shoulders. Hesitantly at first, you squeeze them, but when he doesn't tense under your touch, you begin to massage the muscles.

He hums in response, not quite responding to your touch but not denying it either. "Aiding Lord Diavolo is a stressful role."

A soft smile forms on your face. Why were you so afraid to come here in the first place? Lucifer might be a bit of a sadist in bed, but he's just like any other man. A little bit of talking, and he's opened up in the palm of your hand.

"I can help with that, you know." You lean forward, whispering the words in his ear as you pull forth the most _sensual_ voice you can form. He stiffens, and you take that as a sign that he's interested, dipping your head just the slightest further so that your teeth graze his ear. Moving your hand from his shoulder, you allow your palm to drag down his chest, approaching the spot in his pants that you _know_ must be filled with desire, needy for touch, approaching and approaching...

"Stop," Lucifer orders, and the pact forces you to freeze in your position, a searing pain building in your chest. He flinches at your sudden frigidity, only realizing that he's enabled the pact when he turns to see the look of fear in your eyes. Instantly, you feel your body begin to move and respond once more when Lucifer's own will shifts.

"Damn," You mutter, glancing down at your hands. "That's...a strong pact."

"I'm a strong demon," Comes Lucifer's response, but he looks like he's at war with himself for enabling the pact in the first place. "My...my apologies. I had not realized that the contract would force you to heed my words so precisely _._ I'll think twice next time before giving you something that can be interpreted as a command."

You shake your head, though. "It wasn't the words. It was your will. You didn't _want_ it, and that's why I had to stop." You smile. You hardly had the time to learn much about magic, growing up in the slums, but you do know that the sorcery stems from the heart. And demonic contracts are simply connections of the heart.

Lucifer smiles. "Nonetheless. Are you alright?"

You nod, retaking your seat. But you don't return to your chair. No, you jump and sit right on top of a stack of papers on Lucifer's desk, the very stack that his hand was reaching for one moment ago.

You look at him with a triumphant smile on your face.

"Is this your purpose here?" He looks unamused. "To flirt with me and stop me from doing my work?"

"My purpose here is to do what you hired me to do," You lift your index finger and boop his nose, ignoring Lucifer's utterly bewildered expression as you do so. "To make your oh-so-dark-and-dreary days better."

You punctuate the sentence with a wink.

"And that starts with sleep!"

You lift your legs onto Lucifer's desk, shifting your body and raising them so that your feet are stretched out of the remaining space the wooded table in front of him, going as far as to kick the pen he was writing with off.

"That fountain pen was a gift from Lord Diavolo," He tells you, a scowl on his face. But you ignore him.

"Boo-hoo. The demon lord probably gave the same one to twenty other people."

"He wouldn't—How would—" Lucifer momentarily sputters for a bit, regaining his usual composure only after a moment of silence. "You really are troublesome, do you know that?" He shifts the remaining papers further back on his desk, away from where you might be able to kick them off. "I'm your employer. It would do you good not to disturb my work."

"It would do you good to sleep," You quip. "And with that, I order you to sleep!"

You pause, waiting for the pact to go into effect the way it did when Lucifer ordered you to stop, but nothing happens.

Confused, you arch an eyebrow. _What?_ Instantly, you remember the searing pain in your chest. Even a demon as powerful as Lucifer shouldn't be able to ignore that with such an amused expression, and your once-proud smirk turns into a frown.

"Your heart isn't in it," Lucifer comments plainly.

"What?"

"Your heart isn't _in_ it." Lucifer looks at you, releasing an exasperated sigh. "You've never studied in magic, have you?"

"Um...my manager sometimes told me about it on slow nights?" You offer, but he senses the real answer: _no._

Lucifer shakes his head. "You said it yourself earlier, but you don't seem to understand the concept. It's not the words, it's the _will_. You can tell me to go to sleep, but unless you mean it with all your heart, or you have the necessary control over your magical talent, you'll have no luck in actually forcing me to do so."

_Oh._

Well, don't you feel stupid?

"And with that," Lucifer proclaims. "I order you to get off my desk."

You gasp as your body moves to obey, and every urge to fight back is suppressed by a burning pain in your chest.

"You _asshole_ ," You seethe the moment he relinquishes control of your body with a flick of the wrist, the amused expression never leaving his face as you debate throwing something at him. "You're awful," You mutter with a huff, crossing your arms and turning around.

"Now, now. No need to be so _sensitive,"_ He comments, raising a hand to spin your body around to face him, but you step out of his grip.

"I'm not _sensitive,"_ You retort, though the frustration in your chest indicates otherwise. "You're just a dick!"

Sensing the genuine anger in your voice, Lucifer stands up, snaking his arms around your waist. It's not quite a hug, but you decide you like it.

"Well, aren't you quick to anger?" He murmurs, and you _know_ that although you can't see his face, he's wearing a smile. And though he's far too _proud_ to apologize, you sense the quiet _I'm sorry_ in the gentleness with which his he rests his chin on your head, tenderly rubbing circles into your sides. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Sleep," You respond almost instantly. But unlike last time, Lucifer can sense that you genuinely mean it.

"...Fine. Return to my room. I'll sleep on the couch here. I give you my word that I'll—"

"What?" You interrupt. "No, I don't want you to get some shitty sleep on a couch. Sleep in your bed."

"That's hardly proper—" Lucifer begins, but you interrupt him once more.

"Shut up. I'm a _prostitute,_ and you're my _employer._ Sleeping in separate beds is less proper than sleeping in the same one." You cross your arms and gesture for Lucifer to follow. You don't even bother offering to take the floor or the couch, knowing that he's too proud to allow someone under his care to do so, but it still surprises you when he follows you, though with great reluctance.

Opening and closing the door to his private study, you're surprised to see that Satan is reading a book in the library when you exit. Or rather, he's waiting for you and passing the time in the library.

The moment you exit, with Lucifer following close behind, he shoots you a knowing smile and a nod, equally delighted in your success.

_Thank you_ , you mouth to him, though it doesn't go unnoticed by Lucifer. When the two of you have returned to his room, he crosses his arms.

"So, you enlisted my brother's help in coming to find me?" He frowns, and you can't help but suspect that he's specifically irritated that you were with Satan, of all his brothers. You already know that the blonde doesn't like him much, but could the frustration in their relationship run both ways? "Why didn't you come to me on your own volition?"

"You're not a very easy person to talk to," You mutter, yanking your dress off and letting it fall to the floor. You're wearing underwear now, courtesy of the clothes Lucifer stockpiled in what he had assigned to be _your_ drawer, but you strip completely, only allowing yourself to burrow under his covers once you're fully nude. "Or find. How was I supposed to know that your study was hidden behind the bookshelves in the library?"

"You could have sent a telepathic message to me through the pact," He mutters, silently unbuttoning his own shirt. At your blank expression, he groans. "You truly don't know _anything_ about magic, do you?"

"Nope!" You respond eagerly. "But I know a lot about sex." You wink, sitting up on the bed, not missing the way Lucifer's eyes dart down to your breasts. "A _lot,"_ You emphasize when he turns around.

"We will not be having sex," He mutters. "And _must_ you sleep in the nude?"

"I've always slept in the nude," You respond. At his questioning gaze, you explain: "It was either that or sleep in cheap, scratchy pajamas." You squint when Lucifer turns the lights off, only the moonlight left to illuminate his figure as he approaches the bed.

"I know I left nightclothes for you," He mutters, silently creeping onto the very edge of the bed. You're almost offended with how obvious his attempt is to put as much space as possible between the two of you, and out of sheer spite, you pull him closer. His breath hitches when you snuggle into his side, evidently not having taken you for a cuddler, but he continues nonetheless. "Proper, silk nightclothes."

"Skin is still more comfortable than silk," You respond, emphasizing the statement by slipping your hands under the silken shirt he's wearing, wrapping your arms tightly around his bare torso. His body is warm, so hot that the blanket on top of you seems to be cooling you rather than warming you, but you find the position undeniably blissful.

"You sleep in the nude, and yet you wear that hideous necklace at night. Really, must you? I can buy you something much nicer—"

"Shut up and sleep."

Whatever protest Lucifer has dies on his lips as you press his body tighter against your body. And somewhere along the way, he returns your embrace and wraps a single arm around your body, his hand resting on your shoulder where his thumb continues to graze the diamond choker every so often.

It's not quite sexual, nor is it intimate...but you find it oddly comforting. _Peaceful_ , you think, Lucifer's deliberate movements as he strokes your necklace, lulling you to sleep. Lying here with him is peaceful, and serene, and slow.

You think you could rest like this for eternity and not get tired with how blissfully _tranquil_ everything is.

Little do you know, Lucifer feels the exact same way.

***

When you wake up, it's well past lunch. The grumble in your stomach tells you that much. But what you don't expect is for it to almost be time for _dinner._

**Ah, so you're finally awake.**

You flinch at the sound of the voice, your head darting around the room in search for where it came from. You're still in Lucifer's bed, arguably one of the safest places in the entire Devildom, so there's no chance that anyone could have broken in.

But you know you heard a voice. And there's not a single person in sight.

**It's me. Lucifer. I'm speaking to you through a telepathic connection opened by our pact. Stop looking around—you look like a fool.**

Clicking your tongue at the insult, you cross your arms, huffing. What is he doing inside your head? Wait, if he's speaking to you through telepathy...can he read your mind?!

**Ordinarily, no. But your magical control is so pathetic that you can't even filter your thoughts from the connection, so, yes, I can.**

Your face burns at the realization, every embarrassing moment in your entire life flashing through your eyes.

_The Juggling Incident_ , you think with horror.

Against your will, you recall the day you had approached the very first brothel you ever worked at. You had no understanding of the ways of a prostitute, so when the manager asked you to 'show him what your skills were,' you immediately reached for three ripe dragon fruit and began juggling. When the dumbstruck manager finally clarified what he meant, your cheeks turned so red you thought you wanted to die then and there, and you dubbed that moment the _Juggling Incident_ , and never looked back.

But if Lucifer senses the memory, he doesn't comment on it.

**I've decided to teach you magic. Come to my study. And _don't_ dawdle along the way—I'll know if you do.**

You scowl, consciously keeping your thoughts placid in case Lucifer is still reading your mind, but when you internally call him a dick and he doesn't respond, you assume you're safe. Sighing, you brush your teeth and change into another one of the dresses left for you in the drawer: a rich, blue fabric with black lace accents. It's the very epitome of _rich_ and _flamboyant_ , with a thick petticoat that pushes the skirt outward, but you can't help but think that it fits your curves in the most wonderful way.

Admiring yourself in the mirror, you have to fight the small smile that forms on your face as you twist your body in the mirror, admiring even the lacework and ruffles that you once thought were so unnecessary.

Somehow, the dress pairs perfectly with your diamond necklace. The low collar leaves most of your neck and shoulders bare, and your choker adds the perfect element of sparkle to the already glamorous outfit.

_Beautiful,_ you think. _Everything about this is beautiful._

**Stop staring at yourself and hurry up.**

You flinch at the sudden intrusion in your mind, a furious red painting your cheeks, and you practically run to Lucifer's study, ignoring the questioning looks of Asmo and Beel as you pass them on the way.

"Get out of my mind!" You shout the second you're in Lucifer's presence.

"Relax, I've already severed the telepathy connection. Can you truly not feel it?"

Lucifer raises his eyebrows at you, but he's only met with a blank expression. He groans.

"Sit down," He orders, this time gesturing to a chair very pointedly. You heed his words, crossing your legs while you wait for him to do something.

"Well?" You ask after a full minute has passed, where Lucifer has only stared at you.

"You truly have no magical talent," He mutters to himself. "I've channeled nearly _all_ my energy into your body, and you don't even feel it."

"That's not true!" You cross your arms, feeling self-conscious about your lack of magical skill despite the fact that you've never had a chance to hone it. "At least, the feeling it part. When we first formed our contract, I _felt_ your magic. It was...um..." You try to put your finger on an adjective to suitably describe the sensation that had overcome you as Lucifer held his hand against yours two weeks ago.

_Warm?_

You shake your head. It had certainly been warm, but there was something more to it. His magic was fuzzy and light and it almost reminded you of the sun, with how strong it was as it pulsated through your veins.

"Bright," You finally say. "It actually _felt_ bright, like your magic was lighting up my insides."

Lucifer chuckles. "Like a fire?"

"Yes! That's exactly it!" You beam, recalling how the warmth had spread through your body like your blood was oxygen fueling it further, how you almost felt as if his magic would burst from within and consume you whole in a beautiful blaze.

"You're not the first to describe it like that. Which means that you do have _some_ magical skill..."

"But not enough," You finish for him, sighing.

"But not enough," He agrees.

You watch as Lucifer stands from his desk to walk around it, stopping only once he's completely in front of you. "Take my hand," He orders, and you obey instantly. "Close your eyes. Do you feel it?"

You nod, shutting your eyelids as you grip his wrist where you know you'll be able to sense the pulse of his magic. You can feel it burn inside his skin, a part of you wonders _how_ he's able to contain something so obviously powerful inside him, but then you remember that this is _Lucifer_ , the fallen Morningstar. His power is beyond the scope of your understanding.

"Listen to my pulse. Not with your hand, not with your ears, but with your heart. Tell me when you can hear it."

Your eyebrows scrunch up the slightest at his instructions, wondering what in hell he means by saying to listen with your heart rather than your ears, but you try your best nonetheless and begin focusing on the organ beating inside your chest.

_Ba-dump, ba-dump._

You focus on the sensation of Lucifer's pulse, trying to hold onto its memory every time you go back to directing your attention to your own heart, but every time you redirect your attention, you lose focus of Lucifer's magic.

"It's too weak," You finally grumble, standing up. You open your eyes and, without giving the demon a chance to complain—because he definitely would—you untuck his shirt from his pants with a single pull, sliding your right hand underneath the red fabric before he can say a word.

Gliding over his abs, you don't bother making any sexual jokes as you focus on getting your hand to the right place: just over his heart, where the pulse of his magic will be strongest.

Even his quiet choke of surprise is lost on you as you close your eyes once more, lost in the sensation of your heart and his.

_They beat in sync_ , you realize, wondering if this is the work of the contract.

_Ba-dump, ba-dump_.

Your heart.

_Ba-dump, ba-dump._

His.

Focusing on the two contrasting heartbeats, you start to feel the gentle swell of power that accompanies every pulse. Yours is definitely weaker than his, but it gets to the point where you can feel the magics together, lingering not just in your hearts but all around your bodies and in the air. Hesitantly, you lower your hand from his heart, wondering if it'll break you from this spell of sudden success, but even as you begin to move down and away, the sensation remains.

"I can feel it," You tell Lucifer, eyes opening. "Not just your heart. Mine, too."

He smiles softly, patting your shoulder. "Excellent work. Now I want you to—"

"Hey!" You cross your arms in protest, no longer eager. "Can't we take a break, Lucifer? That was hard!"

"You've been here six minutes," He murmurs in disbelief, a disappointed frown forming on his face.

"And those six minutes were _hard_ ," You proclaim, though you're quite sure you could go a little longer before your focus will break. If you're being perfectly honest, though, you just want to savor the sensation of feeling the magic in the air. You know you'll stop paying attention to it the moment Lucifer moves on to the next lesson, but it's so wondrously novel to you that you want to relish in it a bit longer.

"Fine. Let's take a break," He mutters, returning to his seat. He sits down, folding his hand as an arrogant smirk rises to his face. "Well then," He begins, and you just _know_ he has something bad for you in store.

"Tell me about the Juggling Incident."

***

Training with Lucifer is going surprisingly well. He's far from patient, but you're a decently quick learner, so the two of you get along well, and your friendship has finally blossomed.

It's nothing like the first two weeks, where Lucifer avoided you like the plague.

Sleeping in the same bed has become a habit. Lucifer is never there when you wake up, but you're proud that he's getting at least a _little_ sleep. And you even offered to pajamas to bed last night! (Though you did strip in the middle of the night.)

"You're not focusing," Lucifer mutters, signing the end of a report as he places it on the edge of his desk. The ink is barely dry by the time he's begun a second one, and in all this, he hasn't even raised his eyes to you once.

"You're not even looking at me!" You protest, mouth slightly agape.

"Am I wrong?" He responds, mild irritation present in his voice. You shrink back a little at that, knowing how stressed Lucifer has been lately between the additional workload Lord Diavolo has given to him alongside his brothers' usual antics. And training you in the ways of magic is certainly taking up his precious time, though he's refused all your offers to stop. _Oh, and the fact that he actually sleeps now._ Slumber takes up a fair amount of time in the day, much to his displeasure. Though you'll never feel guilty for forcing the workaholic to get some rest.

You sigh in response, refocusing on the task at hand: controlling the strength of your magic. The least you can do to help Lucifer out is repay his kindness by being a receptive student. Gods know he won't let you repay him with any sexual favors.

_Stronger,_ you tell yourself, trying to build pressure within. Last week's assignment was to make your magical aura as weak as possible, something you'd only gotten a hang of three days in. But diminishing your nature was much easier than magnifying it, and no matter how hard you try, there seems to be a cap to how intensely your magic will pulse.

"More," Lucifer tells you, his pen still flying over the paper. He's already on the next page. "Make it bigger."

_I'm trying,_ you want to tell him, but you heed his words nonetheless. Focusing on your heart, you ignore all distractions around you until even the sensation of the cushioned chair under your bottom is lost to the overwhelming pressure of your magic.

_Stronger_.

You scrunch your eyes shut tighter, focusing. But for all the effort you're putting in, the pulse hardly changes.

_Stronger_.

You squeeze your palm into a fist, so lost in the feeling of your magic that you don't notice the way your nails dip into your skin, piercing the outer layer when your focus intensifies.

_Stronger._

You hold your breath now, hearing your heartbeat begin to beat erratically in the absence of oxygen in hopes that it'll be more powerful, but to no avail.

And you're just about to bite your lip with enough force to draw blood when a hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your trance.

Your eyes snap open, raising to meet Lucifer's concerned gaze.

"You were straining," He tells you calmly. "Not amplifying."

Wordlessly, he runs his fingers down your arms and manually unclasps your hand, the white gloves mingling with red when they ghost over the marks your nails dug into your skin.

"You need to begin by relaxing," Lucifer says with that authoritative voice of his, calm as he walks around your chair and begins working his hands into your shoulders the way you did to him one week ago. You almost melt under his touch, and the tension dissipates from your shoulders within seconds.

"Breathe in," He instructs. "And out." He follows you through this motion repeatedly, his hands slowly falling in sync with his breathing as he kneads circles into your shoulders, and it's nearly a full minute before you begin to understand _why_ he's doing this.

_It's growing stronger_ , you realize, feeling your magic fill your senses once more. Yet, this time, it's not stretched as it grows stronger. Rather, the thump of your heart as it powers your magic up only beats louder with every passing moment, and it's hardly long before you're entirely consumed by the sensation, even Lucifer's fingers dropped from your attention as you continue to breathe in and out, as if every breath of air you take fans the flames of your magic to burn it even brighter.

"You're doing it," You hear Lucifer comment, not missing the impressed inflection of his voice. "You're actually..."

You take deeper breaths, the sensation of your magic growing _even_ stronger, constantly pumping so powerfully that you keep thinking that it can't get any bigger than this, only for your body to prove you wrong.

You hear a short laugh—a melodious sound, you can't help but think—only to realize that it came from _you,_ and suddenly, you can't even suppress the beaming smile that spreads across your face.

"I'm doing it!" You exclaim, almost trembling with glee in your chair. "Lucifer, Lucifer, _look!_ I'm actually doing it!"

Unable to hold back any longer, you open your eyes, only to see the most beautiful smile on Lucifer's face. _Pride_ , you realize. For the first time, it's not directed inward. No, Lucifer's genuinely proud of _you_ in this moment, and the realization brings an undeniable sense of warmth so euphoric to you that not even magic can compare.

Only for a burning pain to burst in your chest in response.

_Fuck,_ you think to yourself, your magic immediately dimming as you clutch a hand to your heart. The agony was brief, but it was just as searing and _painful_ as it was the last time you felt something this bad, which was that time you were in Lucifer's study, and he enabled the pact to force you to stop your ministrations against your will.

"What's wrong?" He inquires at your sudden frown, the smile still on his lips as he approaches. He cups your cheek while you remain seated, almost towering over your frame as he stands in front of you, and the affection in his gestures almost causes another rush of warmth to flood your body—but you're more wary, this time.

"I—I think the magic hurt me," You confess, recalling the pain. It was so sudden, too sudden to have been caused by anything other than sorcery. "Guess I'm not _actually_ ready for it, huh?"

You chuckle sheepishly, rising from your seat. But the sudden action causes a rush of blood to go to your head, and you'd collapse onto the floor if not for Lucifer's arms catching you gracefully and setting you back down in your seat.

"You overworked yourself," Lucifer muses, though he doesn't seem entirely bothered. "Unsurprising, given how much power you actually managed to manifest. But unfortunate, given that dinner is in a few minutes."

He glances down at you, lips about to curve down into a frown when a lightbulb seems to go off in his head.

"Very well. I shall carry you."

Without waiting for a word of your approval, he lifts you like a princess, one arm looped under your legs and another pressed against the exposed skin of your back, making deft strides to the door. A blissful silence fills the room.

You fight back a furious blush as he holds you closer to his body, ignoring how you can feel the outline of his abs as he slides open the door, but then a lightbulb goes off in _your_ head.

If he can make you flustered, why can't you have it the other way around as well?

Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around Lucifer's neck, smiling at how easy it is. Now, to kiss his cheek, you just need to lean your head up a little more and—

You flinch, a searing pain similar to before spreading like wildfire in your chest as you desperately stumble out of Lucifer's arms, away from him and away from the pain. Miraculously, you manage to retreat from his body altogether, only a garbled gasp leaving your lips as you shudder on the ground, ignoring Lucifer hovering next to you.

"Are—are you alright?" He finally manages to ask, but you can barely bring yourself to look at him.

This is now the second time such blinding pain has burned through your chest, and it's undeniable that it has _something_ to do with Lucifer.

"I can...I can walk," You mutter sullenly, standing on shaky legs to lead you to the dining hall. You much prefer being in Lucifer's arms, but your mind screams at you to _not_.

And suddenly, the silence between the two of you is no longer blissful.

***

Guilt.

Or is it regret?

You're not sure what it is when Satan finally corners you and asks _why_ Lucifer has been acting so strange lately, but you're certain that the feeling far from positive.

"Strange? What do you mean strange? Lucifer hasn't been acting strange. Why would he be acting strange?"

Alright. You might have overdone it just the _slightest,_ but do you really want to keep secrets from Satan anyway? You swallow nervously as he stares at you with an expectant expression, letting you know that your lies didn't work even a little on the self-proclaimed detective.

"I, um..." You bite your lip. "I may have begun avoiding Lucifer."

Satan groans.

"It' s—it's not my fault!" You try to justify, immediately sensing the irritation on the blonde's face. "It's just—whenever I see him, it hurts! I physically _can't_ be around him anymore, Satan, I can't!"

"It hurts?" He raises his eyebrows, his previously irritant frown now turned into one of concern. "What does? Where?"

"Um..." You trail off, suddenly realizing how vague the pain that you've begun feeling in the presence of Lucifer is. "In my chest, I think. No—my heart." You nod to yourself, recalling that the agony always seemed to root itself in your heart and spread outward. That incident in his study where he was carrying you was just the first time it happened, and after that point, it seemed like every little thing Lucifer did sent a flood of agony down your body.

You haven't looked him in the eye even once, this past week.

"Your heart," Satan mutters, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Describe the pain."

"Intense. Blinding. Agony. Like, if I don't stop doing whatever I was doing with Lucifer immediately, then I genuinely think it's painful enough to make me pass out or something."

"I see."

The blonde walks around his library shortly, scanning the texts before pulling a black book with gold designs. His eyes scan the pages, and once he's done skimming the chapter, he looks back up at you, already armed with a handful of questions.

"The pain you feel. Is it constant or throbbing?"

"Constant."

"How fast does it spread to your whole body?"

"I don't know. It spreads all over my chest in a few seconds, but I've never let it get past that point."

"When it stops, are there any lingering effects on your body?"

"No."

This continues for a short while, the fourth-born demon only glancing back at the book in his pages occasionally, but you answer his questions as soon as you can, not wanting to waste his time nor yours. You've almost resigned yourself to the fact that this questions game will never end, when Satan finally surprises you by snapping his book shut. He nods his head with a confident look, smiling.

"I've figured out what the issue is," He tells you, his gaze ever sharp as he grins at his brilliant powers of identification. "A contract breach."

"What?" You raise your eyebrows, entirely unfamiliar with the term.

"The pain you feel is caused by you accidentally breaching the contract you formed with Lucifer. The two of you have entered a pact, correct? What were the terms?"

You furrow your eyebrows, trying to remember. "They all...they all applied to him. I don't think he specified any terms for me, other than saying that I was free to leave whenever I want."

But Satan shakes his head. "Lucifer is easily among the top three most powerful demons in the Devildom. He wouldn't risk forming a contract where you held all the power, no matter how weak your magical capabilities are. I assure you, whatever restrictions you bound him to, he bound you to the same ones, even if you didn't realize it."

"But he specifically said..."

"Wording is tricky. Now tell me what the terms of your contract with him were." Satan's nostrils flare as his wrath begins to seep out just the slightest, evidently aggravated by your beating around the bush. _A true detective_ , you can't help but think. _He wants to solve this case as quickly as he can._

"Lucifer swore to do me no harm. And that he wouldn't touch me without my consent." _Not that he has any interest in that anyway._ "And that he would never use magic to manipulate my mind into wanting to stay by his side. And..."

You swallow, remembering the fourth term you had carelessly added out of your annoyance for Lucifer.

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

"And what?" Satan asks impatiently.

You lift your eyes to meet the demon in front of you, and his breath hitches when he sees how utterly _solemn_ your gaze is, a grave mix of fear and desperation.

"I made him swear not to fall in love with me."

He lets out a quiet exhale of shock, understanding dawning on his features. And in this moment, no words are necessary. He steps forward and wraps you in a comforting hug, his arms strong like his brother but different all the same, and the way you wish it's _Lucifer_ holding you right now tells you all you need to know about your predicament.

"Leave this house," Satan whispers into your ear. "Tell Lucifer you want to go home. Leave us, and forget everything that has happened here. Don't get involved with him."

"I can't leave," You respond, though you know Satan is only speaking from a point of reason.

"Is it the money?" He questions, pulling back from the hug. "I'll support you, personally. You can live wherever you want, and—"

You shake your head, raising a finger to Satan's lips.

"I can't leave because I don't want to," You confess, and the words are true as they leave your lips. "Don't look so surprised. We're demons. It's in our nature to give in to temptation." A sad smile forms on your face. "And what is more tempting than the feeling of being loved?"

***

You've already begun to fall in love. You know that much. You may not fully be _in_ love with Lucifer right now, but the sharp pangs you've been feeling in your heart only serve as a reminder to how close you've come, and looking back upon everything Lucifer has done for you, you don't want to back out now.

"Thank you so much, Asmo," You tell the demon, bowing your head respectfully as he hands you a basket filled with oils and candles.

"Oh, no problem, dearie! If you ever want to repay the favor, you know how," The Avatar of Lust winks at you, and you're relieved he closes the door too quickly to see the furious blush that paints your cheeks at his words.

_Such a character_ , you can't help but think as you laugh to yourself, making your way down the stairs to the first floor where Lucifer's study is. You've been avoiding him for a week, but with this, you plan on making it up to him!

"Lucifer!" You call, the moment that you're at his door. You open it a second later, but you wanted to give him a warning so that he has no excuse to ignore you when you saunter inside.

"... You're here," He comments plainly, but you can see the surprise in his eyes. Since that day when you stumbled out of his arms and told him you could walk yourself to the dining room, neither he nor you made much of an effort to reach out. Or...okay, Lucifer tried, but every time you looked at him, your chest felt like it was on fire. So you avoided him like the plague, opting to bond with his other brothers instead.

But now, you're back!

"How much work do you have left?" You ask, hesitantly setting Asmo's basket down on the floor.

"Enough to keep me busy all night," Lucifer responds, the slightly befuddled look never leaving his eyes as he doubtlessly wonders _what_ has compelled you to finally come to his office.

"Well, if you were planning on staying up all night, then a single hour won't make much of a difference," You justify, sweeping all the documents off his desk in a single, grand gesture.

"MC!" He shouts in horror, eyes widening at his now-empty desk. But he's only met with your Cheshire-like grin, and you can immediately tell that it's taking all of Lucifer's self-control to not attack you right now.

"I'll magic your papers back when we're done," You tell the man, not knowing if you have the skill to do so. But before he can comment on it, you tap the desk expectantly. "Now, lie down!"

"You want me to...lie down?" Lucifer's eyebrows furrow together, evidently confused by the entire situation. Well, you hardly blame him. You've barely seen him all week, and now you're randomly barging into his room, dishing out orders—you would be confused, too. And probably a little more irritated, as well, but Lucifer wordlessly lies down on the desk, facing you as gazes at you curiously.

"Not—not like that—" You mutter, slightly exasperated. "I'm giving you a _massage_ , Lucifer."

The demon's eyebrow arches.

"And what has prompted you to do so?" He questions, unbuttoning his shirt. You suppress a smile at that, noticing that he's being _awfully_ lenient with you today in letting you boss him around and have your way, but you suppose that this is the toll of completely avoiding him for a full week.

"Love," You respond jokingly, though the word rings true in your heart. And though you may not be _in_ love at the moment, or infatuated enough for the contract to deem this a breach of the terms, you know that the feelings you've begun to grow for Lucifer are beyond that of mere acquaintances. But though you're certain he caught your joking tone, you make sure to finish the thought: "...And I missed you."

Before Lucifer has a chance to respond, you instruct him to roll over, opening the first bottle Asmo told you to use and oiling his back well.

"Sore muscles," You casually murmur as your fingers glide the oil over his skin, not yet kneading into the muscles just yet. "Are the bane of a good working environment. You'll never be able to perform your best if you're constantly thinking in the ache in your back."

You grab a napkin, wiping your hands of the base oil, and rub the lavender-scented one in your hand.

_Shit, the candles!_

You bite your lip when you realize that you forgot to light them, but Lucifer's eyes are already closed as he rests his head against his arm, so you opt to skip them.

_Sorry, Asmo,_ you think, heating the liquid between your palms by rubbing them together.

"Ready?" You ask Lucifer, and he hums in response. Hoisting yourself on top of the desk, you straddle his back to maximize efficiency. But your massage is hardly sensual. No, you've had masseuse friends in the past, and they all taught you that the mark of a good massage is something that hurts in the moment but feels like heaven afterward.

"Gentle," Lucifer hisses as you work on the area around his neck. "You disappear for a week, and when you return, you pull this? I should assume you're trying to kill me."

"Shut up," You retort, emphasizing your point with a light slap to the demon's back. But you heed his words, and settle to moving to a spot low on Lucifer's back, at the dip of his spine.

A smile blooms on your face when you hear the low groan Lucifer gives as you knead the spot.

"So," You begin, trying to keep things casual. "Did you miss me this week?"

"Yes," Lucifer mumbles, and you can't help but chuckle at that. He's too relaxed to bother filtering himself. "Care to explain your disappearance?"

"In due time, Lucifer. All in due time."

You don't bother saying much after that point, focusing more on doing a good job of working the tension from Lucifer's back. Though, at certain points, you worry that you're really feeling him up more than anything else, but his muscles are _so_ defined, and his back is _so_ deliciously tempting, and—

"Fuck," Lucifer whispers, almost too low for you to hear. He tenses as you apply more pressure to the spot, watching with eager eyes as he bites his lip to prevent any more sounds from leaving his mouth.

Your confidence is renewed.

"I could do this more often," You offer, genuinely feeling bad for disappearing on Lucifer for a whole week. You know _you_ wouldn't be as forgiving as he is right now, should he pull such a thing.

"If it makes you happy," Lucifer responds, probably not meaning too much by it. In fact, he probably just said that to quiet you down, so he could focus on the massage, but when you hear his words, they resonate with your heart.

"Do you mean it?" You ask quietly, withdrawing your hands from his back. Lucifer shifts, glancing back at you and your genuinely questioning expression as you stare at him.

"Yes."

You bite your lip.

"...Is there something you want to do?"

_Lucifer, you sly bastard._

The demon shifts underneath you, turning his body over and sitting up so that you're no longer kneeling around his body, but are instead seated in his lap, the both of you rested comfortably on his desk. You run your fingers through his hair, not caring about the oil.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you this week," You confess, staring Lucifer in the eyes as you formally apologize. Yet, even without the amorous candles Asmo lent you, the air feels undeniably _romantic_ as the two of you stare at each other. "It's just...I realized something."

Lucifer arches an eyebrow, a silent message: _Keep talking._

But you don't want to continue with words. No, words are overrated and words are shitty and it's already so hard to pick the right words _without_ Lucifer gazing into your eyes like you're the most important in the world.

So you let your actions speak instead.

You lean forward, kissing his lips softly. Gently. Tenderly.

It's not your first kiss with him. It's not your second kiss, or the third, or the fifth, or even the hundredth, if you're being realistic.

And yet, it feels like you've never kissed Lucifer before as you lay your lips against his, moving until both your arms are wrapped around his neck and he's settled you even deeper into his lap.

When the moment comes where you both have to break away for air, neither of you are pleased.

"Fuck," You mutter, more to yourself than to him.

But Lucifer only chuckles, raising his eyes to yours once more. His lifts a hand, ungloved, to your face, tenderly stroking your cheek with his thumb before resting his forehead against yours.

"You know," He begins. "I think I..."

You raise your eyes, hopeful.

"I..."

You watch with a frown as Lucifer's gaze grows troubled, his chest constricting like the words he wants to say are stuck inside.

"I..."

Realization dawns in Lucifer's eyes.

And then all hell really does break loose.

A fire fills his eyes.

"Break the pact," He orders instantly, lifting your body off of his and gritting his teeth. He's almost scowling, with the sudden intensity of his glare, but his voice remains calm. Steady.

Not for long.

You lean forward to grab his shoulders, but the motion seems to wash a wave of agony through his body because he flinches away from you, grabbing the desk behind him. His face has changed completely, no longer filled with the soft happiness but instead replaced by the look of a wounded, wild animal.

"Break the pact!" He repeats, a hand flying to his chest as he suppresses a tremor.

"Lucifer," You whisper, walking forward. You try to touch him, but he moves away from you. "Lucifer, what's wrong? Tell me!"

"Break the pact!" He repeats, and you're left utterly confused as his breathing grows strangled and ragged. "I cannot do it, it has to be _you!"_

"Lucifer..." You trail off. You know that, due to the nature of the terms you outlined when you first agreed to bind yourselves, you have to be the one who releases him. But you don't want to. What will happen if you do? Will he throw you out? Cast you away? One month ago, the notion wouldn't have bothered you much. But your relationship with Lucifer has _just_ begun to form. You just were literally speaking to Satan, one hour ago, talking about how you were on the fringe of falling in love with the firstborn demon.

"Heed my words! Break the pact!" Lucifer orders, now shouting. And yet, your body doesn't move to obey.

_Why?_ You wonder, fingers twitching. You remember the first time Lucifer accidentally enabled the pact, and how your body had responded on impulse because of the resolution in his heart with which he said it. If your body isn't forcing you to heed his words, then that means...

_Why would he make an order if he doesn't truly desire it in his heart?_

"Lucifer," You try to reason, closing the distance between the two of you. You cup his cheek, but that only makes him writhe in more agony. "Lucifer, let me help you! I don't like seeing you like this, I don't—I can't—"

"Break the pact," He orders, through gritted teeth. He flinches when he sees tears in your eyes, but his hand never stops clutching at his chest. "I swear to Diavolo if you do not break this pact _this instant,_ then I—I—"

His face contorts in pain, and he grabs your shoulders for support. The weight of him nearly makes you collapse.

" _Please,"_ He finally murmurs in a garbled voice, the word nothing short of _agony_ as it leaves his lips. And as much as you don't want to, as much as you want to stay and ask him what brought forth this sudden change, the pleading tone of his voice breaks you.

_The Avatar of Pride_ , you think. _Reduced to a pleading and begging mess._

You don't stop to think. You don't stop to wonder why Lucifer wants you to break the pact, or what could have caused it, and you don't pick up any of the painfully obvious cues which the self-proclaimed Detective Satan would flick you for missing. You don't think of love, or hope, or happiness, or anything but the fact that, half an hour ago, that you were telling yourself that you had the potential to love Lucifer and now he wants to break his pact with you.

Your lower lip trembles.

"I release you from this contract."

And the second the pact breaks, so does your heart. ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 9.1k
> 
> Notes: My apologies for this being late <3 i got blackout drunk with my roommate on friday to celebrate being fired. isnt that fantastic? sarcasm. i was on track to graduate college with no student loan debt. no longer.
> 
> Comment & Leave Kudos
> 
> Next Update: 7/04/20
> 
> I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.


	3. Part 3

You didn't know.

And—truly—is it your fault?

You bite your lip, a sudden tremor traveling through your body that makes you tremble on Satan's couch. It prompts you to bury your head in the leather fabric, despite knowing that it will offer you no refuge from the agony of your mind.

A cold sensation makes you flinch, and you open your eyes worriedly to see the Avatar of Wrath pressing a glass of water against your cheek.

"Drink," He commands, though his voice carries the undertones of sympathy to it. "It'll make you feel better."

Begrudgingly, you accept the glass of water and force yourself to take a sip when the blonde's eyes don't leave you, wrinkling your nose when the taste hits your tongue.

"This isn't water," You complain, the bitterness overpowering your senses.

Satan smiles.

"Bottoms up," He says, tapping the glass, and you force the fluid down your throat with Satan's earlier promise ringing through your mind.

_It'll make you feel better._

Right now, feeling better is exactly what you need. For the past two days, you've been cooped up in your (Lucifer's) room, buried under the covers while trying to ignore the pain in your heart. You haven't been able to sleep, and you haven't been able to eat, and you would probably still be in bed if Satan hadn't dragged you out to force you to have lunch. Of course, you had thrown such a fit about eating that the blonde accepted defeat and had simply opted to drag you to his room instead, but it's done little to help you out of this rut. For the past two hours now, you've been curled up on his couch, feeling as miserable as you look.

You drop the glass on the carpeted floor with a thud, groaning lightly once its contents have all gone down your throat. _That didn't do shit_ , you think, glaring at Satan while he walks to his desk and flips open a book, ignoring your gaze entirely as he flips through the chapters.

Finally, he stops, turning his body to you while reading a page out loud.

"Withdrawal," He says, voice clear. "Breaking a contract is akin to the human affliction of withdrawal. Demons become dependent on the sustenance offered by the symbiotic nature of pacts, and any sudden deprivation of said pact results in intense sensations of withdrawal, including: agitation, restlessness, nausea, disorientation, irritability, nightmares, dilated pupils, increased sensitivity to pain, loss of appetite, shakiness, and overall weakness. Common coping mechanisms include reforming the original pact, and/or developing separate pacts. "

You groan.

You didn't know.

You _couldn't_ have known, really, how much it would impact you when you and Lucifer broke the pact. But you both did it anyway, and now your body is suffering the consequences.

"Congrats, detective." You roll your eyes and scowl at the ceiling, focusing your gaze away from Satan. "You figured it out."

The demon sighs softly, walking over to you as he brushes the stray strands of hair from your forehead. This morning, you'd been sweating unbearably, but now you feel nothing but cold as his fingers push your hair back, and you can't be certain if you're trembling from the temperature or from some other affliction. Perhaps it's withdrawal, as Satan had said.

"I take it confessing your feelings to Lucifer didn't go well?" He offers a sympathetic smile, and you have to suppress the urge to roll over on the couch and ignore him.

"I didn't even get to that," You mutter. "I was going to give him a massage as an apology for ignoring him for a week, you know. And _afterward,_ I was going to tell him. But…"

You groan once more, the pounding in your head strengthening. You're not sure whether it's simply from general discomfort or if it's sourced from the frustration that accompanies rethinking what transpired two nights ago.

"Go on," Satan encourages.

"I don't even fucking know," You confess. "One minute everything was fine, and the next...Lucifer was yelling at me to break the pact."

You wait for Satan to say something, either to offer his sympathies or to tease you for thinking you had a shot with the firstborn demon, but for once, the blonde keeps quiet.

_Silence._

A thoughtful one, though, and when you look up at Satan, you can physically _see_ the gears turning in his head. He's looking at you but not _looking_ at you, and you brace yourself the moment his lips curve upward into the familiarly triumphant grin he wears every time he figures something out.

"Did Lucifer look like he was in pain when he broke the pact?"

Your eyes widen momentarily, realizing that the blonde is spot on with his guess, though you never said anything to indicate as much. A surprised nod is all it takes for Satan to continue.

"And right before he began demanding for you to break the pact, had anything special happened? Did he look as if he had realized something?"

Another wave of shock washes over you, suddenly recalling other details to the story that you had forgotten to tell Satan. "I…" Your cheeks flush a light shade of pink, but you decide that there's no point in being embarrassed about this with Satan when he already knows so much about your feelings for Lucifer. "I kissed him. And he...reciprocated."

You smile at the memory, recalling how _right_ Lucifer's hands had felt as he tugged you closer to him. That kiss was nothing like the previous ones, nothing like the ones exchanged under the guise of a prostitute entertaining a customer. If not for the fact that Lucifer had pushed you away seconds later, you might go as far as to say that the kiss had been fueled by genuine love.

Another memory flashes through your mind, something that you had forgotten over the hours of brooding over your woes. Right after you had kissed, but before anything had truly gone awry.

_When the moment came where you both had to break away for air, neither of you were pleased._

_"Fuck," You muttered, more to yourself than to him._

_But Lucifer only chuckled, raising his eyes to yours once more. He lifted a hand, ungloved, to your face, tenderly stroking your cheek with his thumb before resting his forehead against yours._

_"You know," He began. "I think I…"_

_You raised your eyes, hopeful._

_"I…"_

_You watched with a frown as Lucifer's gaze grew troubled, his chest constricting like the words he wanted to say were stuck inside._

_"I…"_

You blink in surprise.

"Lucifer was about to say something." You sit up on the couch, your hopeful eyes meeting Satan's own. "Right before he told me to break the pact, right after we had kissed. He looked really happy for a moment, and he kept trying to say something. But it was like he couldn't. Like the pact..." _Like the pact was stopping him._

A smile grows on Satan's face.

"He…"

You can't bring yourself to finish the sentence. _What if you're wrong?_ That prospect truly would hurt even more than the heartache you've been through this past day, thinking that Lucifer didn't reciprocate his feelings for you.

But Satan, on the other hand, is confident.

"He realized his feelings for you," The blonde proclaims proudly, arms crossed on his chest with such certainty that it clears the remaining doubts from your mind. "And Lucifer is the Avatar of _Pride. He_ has too much self-confidence to doubt himself the way you did when you began to harbor feelings for him."

"So instead of having short bursts of pain like me," You begin, your eyes widening in incredulity. "He felt the true pain of violating the contract."

The memory of the brief instances where the contract's magic had seared through your heart coupled with how _desperate_ Lucifer had been as he pleaded for you to break the contract leaves no room for hesitance. Slowly but surely, the pain in your heart begins to be replaced by the indescribable warmth you had felt all the previous times you'd realized your feelings for Lucifer. But this time, there is no pain that follows, no contractual breach to send punishment down your shoulders.

Just the indescribable feeling of _love_ as you realize that your feelings are reciprocated.

"I have to go find him," You mutter, standing up on the couch. "I ran away from him. He probably thinks I hate him. If I don't see him now, _he'll_ probably hate _me."_

"Not so fast, dear." Satan places a hand on your shoulder as you try to rush past him. "I'm not sure how long you think you've been moping around in bed, but it's currently Saturday afternoon. Lucifer is out of the house, and you're hardly in the proper condition to see him."

Satan's eyes trail down your figure, twitching as he sees the way you've worn the clothing.

 _Oh,_ you think, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

When Lucifer had broken off his pact with you, you'd run away from him before he could even get another word in, blinded by tears and the crushing sense of what you thought was rejection. You climbed into his bed wearing the silken pajamas he would always try so hard to get you to wear, hoping that it might make you feel a little better, but over the course of the remaining two days you spent in bed, they had come to be disfigured in your subtle attempts to sleep in the nude—buttons popping off on your shirt, pants being rolled up beyond anywhere normal.

"He's...out?" A small pout forms on your lips at the words, wondering whether it means you'll have to see him.

"No worries on that front, I can bring you to him." Satan nods thoughtfully. "But if you don't want people asking questions, you'll have to wear the RAD uniform."

"I see," You mutter, frowning. You certainly don't have one of those lying around.

"Don't look so sad," Satan begins. "Asmo has more than enough female uniforms on hand."

You should know better than to agree, with the Cheshire-like grin on Satan's face. You really should. And yet, overwhelmed by a desire to re-confess your feelings for Lucifer without any pact prohibiting you from doing so, you nod your head.

The wrong choice, you'll think later.

But for the present moment, all that matters is you being able to find and talk to Lucifer. No matter how ridiculous you may look in doing so.

***

Everyone stares at you as you sprint by them.

In truth, who wouldn't? An awkward and stumbling mess of heels and the RAD uniform, you look like one of _them_ yet so very different at the same time. The skirt you wear outlines the curve of your ass more than it attempts to cover your thighs, the top you're in threatens to expose your stomach every time you breathe, and the unmistakable _sparkle_ of your diamond necklace only further ensures that every eye on the pathway turns to your figure as you tumble in the direction of what Satan and Asmo told you would be the student council building.

At this point, you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care about what any of the demons you cross think. In fact, the only instance you'd pass them a second glance is if one of them happens to be _Lucifer,_ and you're quite certain that none of them are, for he's scheduled to be in the student council building for another half hour.

 _This is it,_ you tell yourself as you approach an especially tall building with a statue of Lord Diavolo in front of it. There are fewer windows on this structure, and no classrooms inside. _This is the student council building._

Your heart beats nervously in anticipation for what is about to come as you step inside, the cool air conditioning hitting you as you make a left and begin climbing the stairs to the third floor. _Up the stairs, down the hall, last door on the left._

You repeat the words in your head like a mantra, worried that you'll forget. But the real reason is that if you bring yourself to think about _anything_ else, like the fact that you're about to confront Lucifer about your feelings, you'd turn around in fear and run back to Satan and Asmo.

_Up the stairs, down the hall, last door on the left._

You're jogging now, footsteps light with anticipation as your heart swells with the memory of Lucifer kissing you, wondering if you'll get to experience it again.

_Up the stairs, down the hall, last door on the left._

You're blatantly running, footsteps loud on the wooden floor as you travel down the hall in question, not even hesitating as you yank open the last door on the left without so much as a knock.

"You love me!"

The words are out of your mouth before you can process them.

And then all you can hear is the fast beating of your heart as Lucifer remains quiet, not even turning around as he continues to gaze silently out the window.

The sound of your breathing fills the room, heavy with both anticipation and a light exhaustion from how fast your pace had been (and how much a _struggle_ it had been to run in these heels).

"You love me," You repeat, voice softer.

And slowly, Lucifer turns around.

"Why are you out of the house?" He questions, not bothering to address your comments. His lips curve downward into a signature frown, the very same expression he'd worn right after you'd broken off the pact.

But you won't let him derail you.

"You love me," You repeat, walking forward to Lucifer, where he remains seated. Once more, he doesn't bother responding to your words, his frown deepening when he sees the skimpiness of your outfit.

"Who gave you that uniform? What made you think it was appropriate to come out of the house looking so—"

"Stop deflecting," You whisper, placing a finger on Lucifer's lips. You wait for him to protest, to send another retort your way, but for once, he heeds your words and remains silent as you quietly climb onto his lap.

"You love me," You say with a sense of finality, and this time, Lucifer doesn't say anything. You exhale softly, your face now mere centimeters away from Lucifer's, but you don't try to kiss him. Instead, you slowly trace the outline of his features. "That's why you made me break the pact," You whisper, your fingers tracing his hairline. They drag along the sharpest diagonal of his jawline, connecting underneath his chin where you lift them to his lips.

"You were about to tell me something. You kept saying 'I' and then stuttering." You chuckle softly, your thumb brushing over Lucifer's bottom lip. "You were going to say 'I love you.'"

Your words aren't questioning, nor are they spoken with any inflection that would demand confirmation from Lucifer. You know them to be true.

"And the moment you realized it, you had breached the pact and it was too painful for you to continue. So you made me break it off." A sad smile forms on your lips, and you tear your gaze away from the sharp definition of Lucifer's eyebrows to look into his eyes instead. "You were going to say something, too. Right before I ran away."

You cup his cheeks, resting your forehead against his. "Tell me."

It's a while before the Avatar of Pride fully responds, but you're patient. You can feel the phases he shifts through, from surprise to apprehension to reluctance to eventual acceptance, and it's only when he responds with his body, moving his hands to settle them over your waist, that you know he's finally given in.

"You're a troublesome girl."

You blink.

"Excuse me?" You demand, indignant as a pout forms on your lips.

"I speak the truth. That was what I was going to tell you. That you're such a troublesome prostitute for…" He closes his eyes, sighing. "For stirring up these feelings in me."

You laugh lightly, a sudden lightness taking over your senses.

"You're not going to deny it?" You ask. "You're not going to try and conserve your pride by pretending that you have no feelings for a lowly prostitute?"

Lucifer shakes his head.

"There's no shame in loving another demon. Your occupation makes you no different."

"You admit it, then." A triumphant smile blooms on your lips. "You love me!"

"Yes," Lucifer says, nodding his head.

"I want to hear you say it," You whisper, poking his chest with a laugh. And for a moment, you think he's going to deny your request, you think he's going to push you off his lap with a huff and mutter something about getting you back to the House of Lamentation.

But to your surprise, he doesn't.

Lucifer leans his head back the slightest, his red eyes boring into yours like two rubies that see into your soul, and in that moment you're certain he can _feel_ how you reciprocate his emotions, and there's nothing holding him back as he sets his pride free and smiles softly, cupping your cheek as three words slip from his tongue.

"I love you."

And hearing Lucifer say the words is so different from you proclaiming it yourself, or having Satan verify the sentiment. No, hearing Lucifer explicitly confirm them causes your heart to swell with love, and you can't hold yourself back as you wrap your arms around Lucifer and trap his lips in a kiss that takes both your breath away.

Unlike all your prior exchanges, the moment doesn't turn lustful or passionate. In fact, the only proper word you can think of to describe the moment is _tender_ as you press your lips against each other.

Your hands tangle in his hair, the dark raven locks that you've spent far too long daydreaming about, and somewhere in between, his hands move from your waist to the back of your head, both of you pressing into each other in an attempt to get more of the other without wanting to succumb to lust.

_Sweet._

The kiss is nothing but sweet as you kiss, chaste and innocent, and nothing like all the times you've kissed before. You savor the sensation, wanting to bask in it for all eternity. And if Lucifer would let you, you probably would, with how soft his lips are against yours.

"I love you, too," You whisper when the two of you part for air, suddenly realizing that you haven't said it. The low chuckle that comes from Lucifer lets you know that he already knew.

"Truly, though, which of my idiot brothers sent you out of the house looking like this?" Lucifer arches an eyebrow, gazing down at you. To your embarrassment, you find that the skirt rode up when you straddled Lucifer's lap, and currently, his arms are the only thing covering your thighs. Moreover, from this angle, it becomes impossibly obvious how tight your top is against your chest.

"Asmo," You confess with a soft sigh. "Though Satan was the one who suggested making me look as enticing as possible."

Lucifer groans audibly, and you have to suppress a laugh. "Why must you enlist my brothers' help whenever you have your doubts about me? Simple one-on-one communication is much more effective, you should know."

"Says the demon who didn't check on me once in these past two days."

"I was giving you space," He retorts swiftly. "If I had known you would be going to Satan in search of advice, I would have come to speak to you long before you would have had to search me out. Need I remind you, before you came storming into my room, you had already been avoiding me for an _entire_ week."

"Shh," You put a finger to Lucifer's lips, winking. "We don't talk about that."

The demon rolls his eyes in annoyance, gently lifting you out of his lap and standing up as he drapes his coat over your shoulders. It hangs like a dress over your figure, but it conceals everything your uniform doesn't, so you're not complaining.

"Come," He mutters softly, gesturing for you to follow him. "I'm taking you home."

 _Home,_ you can't help but think. _It's the first time he's called it that in front of you._

***

As usual, you're not quite sure what to expect from Lucifer.

You're currently lying naked on his bed, comfortably rested between the covers and his arms, and despite the fact that you've all but thrown yourself at him, he doesn't seem interested in doing what usually follows after two people confess their affections for one another.

You try to remain quiet a little longer, shifting patiently in Lucifer's muscled arms as he absentmindedly rubs circles into your sides and rests his head on your shoulder, but eventually, you can't take it anymore.

"Are we going to have sex or what?"

Oh. Damn. That came out _way_ more blunt than you wanted it to.

Lucifer lets out a low chuckle, shifting your position lightly so that you're looking into his eyes. "Must everything be about sex for you?" He questions.

"I mean," You glance away, slightly flustered. "We're in bed. Naked. Cuddling. You can't tell me I'm reading the situation wrong."

Lucifer shakes his head with another chuckle, resting his head on the pillow. "Neither of us is in a rush. We'll take it slow."

"Take it slow?" Now it's your turn to raise an eyebrow. "Lucifer, we had sex the first night we met. How in hell is that taking it _slow?"_

But the demon silences you with a kiss, simply opting to hold you closer while absentmindedly dragging a thumb over the diamond choker wrapped around your neck. You relax in his embrace, biting back an accusatory question about whether he should be working or not, simply opting to savor the tranquility of the moment.

A quiet hum escapes your lips when Lucifer begins to massage your muscles. It's hardly anything major, really just a gentle squeeze wherever you feel tense, but you can't help but close your eyes and bask in the sensation as Lucifer works his way up from your hips to your arms, only halting when he's placed his hands on both your shoulders and is now hugging you from behind. 

You lean your head on one of his arms, arching your neck peacefully to feel the sensation of the soft skin of his hand, ungloved, against your cheek, but the process exposes your neck. Evidently more occupied with the sparkle of your necklace that caressing your cheek, you can't help but chuckle when he shifts to get a better look at the choker, eyebrows fuddling together so cutely that you almost want to kiss them.

"You really like that necklace, don't you?" You laugh,

"Not at all," Lucifer mutters, frowning. "It's quite hideous. I really don't understand why you never sold it, in all your years as a prostitute. It would have earned you enough to rise out of the slums, at the very least."

"Why do you care so much?" You ask, sighing. You glance down at the stunning choker. Even in the perpetual darkness of the Devildom, it never fails to catch what little light remains.

There's a moment of silence, then. A moment where Lucifer hesitates, as if he's wondering whether he should actually say this or not. But then, he chooses to speak.

And even you can't hold back the shock from your expression.

"Because that's what I expected you to do with it when I gave it to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 4.0k
> 
> Notes: lmao ima be straight with you, this entire series was based around that last line in this chapter ;)
> 
> Comment & Leave Kudos
> 
> Next Update: 7/11/20
> 
> I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.


	4. Part 4

_Deep down inside, you always knew that things would turn out this way._

_After all, what other way could things have gone?_

_Your mother could only stuff you in a closet for so many years while she entertained her clients and hid you from the brothel manager._

_And while you could always be quiet, trying your hardest to tune out the sounds of her beguiling words and the disgusting moans of the men and women she handled, it was simply a matter of time before you simply didn't fit inside._

_To your mother's merit, she tried her best. She really did._

_You kept quiet as she slowly emptied out her closet's contents, making room for your growing frame in the tiny wardrobe she had been provided with. You didn't bother complaining when she asked you to twist your body into awkward positions to force your five-foot-tall body into the three-foot-tall closet. And not a sound escaped your lips on the countless instances where she would leave you there overnight, whenever the manager would sneak into her room afterward and demand she provide him her services in exchange for the free shelter he was providing her with._

_Yeah. For your sake, she really tried her best._

_Yet no matter how long your mother forced you to fold your wings and hold your breath, nothing could change the day when her manager barged into her room without so much as a knock—angry at her, but evidently having forgotten the source of his rage the moment he set his eyes over you._

_You would never forget the look of raw fury radiating off his shoulders the second he pieced together the fact that your mother had been harboring a child in her quarters._

_At that moment, you knew what had to happen._

_Your mother knew it too, though she didn't dare take her eyes off her manager as she clutched your shoulders._

_When he provided her a final ultimatum, forcing her to choose between her life as a prostitute and whatever motherhood she would attempt to serve you while homeless, you both already knew which decision she would have to make._

_After all, you were not naive._

_You always knew that things would turn out this way._

_Pressing your back further into the cold alley wall, no sobs escaped your mouth as you stared at the ground. You watched, with a sick sense of irony in your stomach, as a small family of mice scurried back and forth, paying you no attention. Indeed, they probably saw you as one of them. The lowest of the low. Scum from the slums. A parasite on society, with nothing to redeem yourself._

_A queer sense of apathy had settled over your shoulders in that moment._

_No rage existed inside you. No resentment at your mother for making what, by all rights, was the logical decision for her own livelihood. You weren't even particularly sad over the fact that you had been thrust onto the streets to die._

_The sky was not especially dark, the rain was not pouring. The sounds of people passing by were not especially happy, to counter your dreary disposition, nor were they dismal to match._

_Indeed, there was nothing move-like about your current predicament._

_It was simply a cold, hard reality._

_You resigned yourself to death with careful dignity, the very same thing which had allowed you to remain silent on those many nights you remained stuffed inside that tiny closet without complaint._

_You were not going to struggle for life, not when life had so little to offer you. You did not want to live like your mother, where you would be chained to your profession with no way of escaping. You were not going to humiliate yourself by trying to grasp life when it already seemed so bent on leaving you; you were not going to chain yourself to a need to survive when there was nothing worth surviving for._

_In fact, you were perhaps more free in that moment than you'd ever been—no closet restricting your movements, no sounds of sex playing in the background, no obligation to quiet your ever-apologetic mother who always seemed to be begging for your forgiveness._

_At that moment, you were truly free._

_Or so you thought._

_"What's a small thing like you doing in a place like this?"_

_If the words hadn't been spoken with such tenderness, you might have thrown the man who said them a glare, for bothering you just when you had finally accepted the incoming visit of the Grim Reaper. You might have muttered at him to leave you alone, or you might have simply tossed your middle finger up at him to send the same message._

_Yet the demon standing next to you seemed to be asking you the question with a genuine concern for your current state, so you decided that you wouldn't insult him._

_"Dying," You grunted._

_A short answer. But it was the truth._

_The demon must have sensed the bitter honesty to your words, because he crouched down low and looked carefully at your face, which was still angled down at the ground._

_The second he drew closer, the mice you were previously watching all scurried away, the six of them gone in the flash of an eye. That fact was all you needed to know that this man was not from here, that he was not from the slums. The mice did not see him as one of them, the way they saw you._

_The realization that this man must have been an upper-class citizen filled your heart with silent anger, the first of its kind._

_You kept your eyes fixed on the ground out of sheer spite, refusing to acknowledge him further._

_"Come," He finally said, after a long silence. When you refused to budge, he folded his arms. "What? I'm not going to hurt you. Let me give you some food, that's all."_

_Again, though, you ignored the demon entirely and stared at the ground. You were planning on meeting your end through starvation. It was pretty much the only (and most common) method of dying down in the slums, and an additional meal would not be helping your cause. But the demon seemed to sense your reasoning, because a second later, he had offered his arm to you._

_"If you come with me, I'll give you a knife when we're done."_

_That was pretty much all it took to convince you._

_Dying of starvation was one thing. But to die on your own terms? With a knife in hand? What a way to go. The Grim Reaper would not visit you, but rather, you were going to find him on your accord._

_Getting to have a real meal was only an added bonus._

_Of course, when you stood up, you still refused to look at the demon, hell-bent on glaring at the ground. The fact that you were silently wondering what kind of food he would give you was secondary to your stubbornness, and you had no plans of changing that._

_You followed the strange man with your head set low, watching the ground more than you were paying attention to the man beside you. You hardly noticed when he led you out of the slums, only sensing the shift when your ragged clothing began to draw attention—when you realized that your miserable appearance was no longer the norm._

_Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care as the demon led you inside a restaurant that was far too fancy for the way you were dressed. The man ordered for you, but you still ignored him, staring silently at the buttons on his shirt._

_When he finally began speaking again, you almost considered humoring him with an answer._

_"What's your name?"_

_Of course, you didn't end up saying anything, and only pursed your lips, your frown deepening._

_A small part of you hoped that the demon would push a little further. That he would continue to be gentle with you and continue asking questions until you found one innocent enough to answer._

_But all you were met with was an exasperated sigh as the demon crossed his arms, hiding the button you were staring at so intently._

_You dropped your gaze lower, now glaring at the edge of the table._

_If you had looked up, you might have noticed that the demon in front of you had a similarly stormy expression on his face._

_When the food finally came, the demon was quick to snatch your plate up, fingers cutting the steak he had ordered for you, only returning to you the plate and the fork that had been provided, carefully keeping your knife on his own napkin._

_"Eat," He ordered before you could complain about the action, and while you might have thought to argue, everything vanished in your mind when the delicious scent of the food wafted through the air._

_It smelled fucking delicious._

_Almost as delicious as it ended up tasting._

_For a brief moment, as you greedily stuffed your face full of vegetables and meat cooked in a way you had never thought possible, you almost forgot about the direness of your situation. The fact that your mother had been forced to cast you aside. The fact that you had no money. No shelter. No way to continue surviving, even in a place as low as the slums._

_Indeed, as you ate, the world almost felt like a better place._

_And the demon in front of you noticed._

_"Drink," He told you, pushing your glass of water closer to you—and only then did you remember that regular people didn't need to worry about conserving water, that they could drink it whenever they wanted and not just when they were worried about passing out from dehydration._

_You gulped the water down with as much fervor as you ate your food, silently wondering if the liquid always tasted this good. You almost didn't notice when the demon quietly moved part of his own meal onto your empty plate, filling it with new foodstuffs that you couldn't have named even if you tried._

_Had the food not been so mind-numbingly delicious, you might have thought to mumble a quiet "Thank you" to the demon in front of you, because this was truly the most amazing thing you'd ever placed in your mouth. But so caught up in shoveling food down your throat, nothing else seemed to exist as you ate more and more, only stopping when you felt your stomach start to tense with alarming tightness._

_Your hand froze in its place, and you stared at the carrot on the end of your fork, silently debating whether you should eat it or not._

_"Don't force yourself," The demon in front of you muttered quietly, placing a soft hand on yours, lowering your fork back to the plate. "The food will still be here in five minutes."_

_Your stomach groaned audibly in response._

_The demon in front of you must have heard, because shortly after, he was chuckling lightly. He managed to get his amusement under control when he saw your frown deepen, though, but at that point, you had re-devoted yourself to glaring at his buttons._

_"You have something on your face," The demon commented, lifting a napkin. He leaned forward to wipe it off your face, but you slapped his hand away, scowling._

_"I can get it myself," You muttered._

_To prove your point, you snatched up your napkin and began wiping at your face, only stopping once you were convinced that you had gotten everything. Much to your chagrin, though, the demon revealed that it was quite the opposite._

_"There's still more. A lot more," He said, adding that last part under his breath. Knowing better than to try to wipe your face for you a second time, he simply pointed out the direction of the bathroom and told you to be quick about it, and you could tell that he was doing his best to hide the mild irritation from his voice._

_By the time you came back, he was gone._

_At the back of your mind, you weren't even that surprised. Sure, your heart sank a little, and you began to wonder if he would have stayed had you been a little bit more polite...but then bitterness ran rampant through your heart and you realized that you didn't need him._

_After all, you were still planning on dying, weren't you?_

_The dark aura wrapped around your body seemed to thicken in that moment, and you absolutely would have marched straight out of the restaurant and back to your little alley in the slums to die in peace—had you not noticed the small box placed just on the side of your plate._

_The bitterness on your face was briefly replaced by a sense of curiosity, and you crept back to your seat in silence, lifting the box in your hands, testing its weight._

_It was heavy._

_You opened the box with deep suspicion, almost as if a curse would be cast upon you the moment the lid came off. But its contents startled you even more than a potential curse could have._

_You glanced inside._

_Diamonds._

_A diamond choker, to be specific, hundreds of the little gemstone sparkling and catching the light as you experimentally moved it around in your hands. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as you ran your fingers over the cool jewels, and the room fell silent as every table in the vicinity stopped to stare at the stunning piece of jewelry in your hands._

_For the first time since being forced from your mother, you lifted your eyes in wonder._

_Everyone around you was staring at you, but for the first time, you could tell that their eyes weren't malicious. In fact, they looked nothing but awestruck as they studied the magnificent necklace in your hands._

_But they weren't the ones you were watching._

_Eyes raised, you caught sight of the demon who had been with you before—not his face, but the back of his head as he turned and exited the restaurant with a swiftness you'd never seen._

_You wanted to reach your hand out, to call his name and thank him. But by then, he was gone, and you were certain that he wanted it to be that way._

_You lowered your eyes once more to the necklace in your hands, running your fingers over its shine once more. And then you glanced back at the table._

_A small stack of Grimm was lying just next to your plate, presumably to pay for the meal you had just eaten, but before you could even think about stealing it, another observation stole your attention._

_The demon had taken both knives from the table._

_***_

_It took you three days to realize that there was a note buried underneath the necklace. It was written on a napkin, in characters you couldn't read—which really wasn't saying much, given that the only characters you knew were the letters to your own name._

_Your priority then became to read the note._

_It was a strange goal, for sure. But it became your reason for surviving. Everything you did, you did with the simple reasoning that you were trying to read the note left to you by the strange man who had taken it upon himself to attempt to persuade you into living._

_That wasn't to say that you were convinced that life was the right choice, of course. You still planned on dying._

_You just wanted to read the note first._

_At least, that was what you told yourself as you slowly went to every length possible to ensure your immediate survival. You steeled yourself, convincing both mind and soul that you were only going to live until this curiosity was sated._

_The idea of selling the necklace never crossed your mind. Why would you, when you had no plans of surviving in the long run? You had decided: you would read whatever the note said, and then you would be off._

_And so you did what you needed to do._

_It was hardly a difficult decision to sell your virginity off. When you still planned on dying, what was the point in meeting the Grim Reaper with said virginity intact? If sex was the thing that was going to give you the money you needed to learn how to read, you would partake, no matter how painful._

_It wasn't long before you found yourself returning to a specific whorehouse multiple times, going back every time you found yourself short of cash. It was even less time before the manager there noticed how customers seemed to have taken a liking to you, and he offered you shelter in exchange for your continued support as a formal employee at the establishment._

_And so you became a prostitute._

_It was nearly a decade before you mustered up the courage to ask a client if they could read. It took another decade before you found one who actually possessed the talent, for literacy was a rare skill to find in the slums._

_But the day a man nodded his head at your question, you wasted no time in retrieving the box where you had kept the diamond necklace, leaving it safely stored inside and taking out only the note._

_You presented the latter to the demon with a hesitant expression, suddenly acutely aware that you had only survived thus far out of determination to learn what the paper read._

_The demon in front of you looked at you curiously._

_"It's a message," He told you. "I'm not sure to whom, but it reads: 'Death is a darker place than the one you are in.'"_

_The demon handed the note back to you awkwardly, evidently not understanding why you had made such a strange request of him._

_But to you, the world suddenly seemed different._

_Finally, you had the meaning to the note left to you—the last thing you would have expected was that it would be a warning against the very thing you were still bent on committing._

_When the demon left and you were finally alone once more, you took the napkin out and laid it against your bed, the light from the diamond necklace illuminating strange patterns on the fabric._

_The demon's words repeated in your mind. And when you heard them a second time, they were in a voice you thought you had forgotten: the voice of the man who saved you._

_'Death is a darker place than the one you are in.'_

_And, oddly enough, you realized that the words were true._

_At last, you had found shelter. Not happiness, per se, but shelter. And a steady income. Food. Water. A bed, and not one that was four times too small for you._

_And while the words may not have rung true in your heart the day the demon wrote those words for you, their meaning had at last been realized._

_You shut the box for the first time, allowing it to close without the diamond choker inside. Tossing the small black rectangle onto your table, you returned your gaze to the necklace and the now remaining on your bed._

_With a steady hand, one calmed by a strange sense of peace, you wrapped the choker around your neck and fastened it into place._

_That was the first time you wore it._

_And in your heart, you committed the demon's words to memory: that death was a darker place than the one you were in. Words that would hold true no matter where you went, because while the slums would always be a dark place, they were still illuminated by the faint light of life, and nothing could change that fact._

_That night, for the first time, you slept with a heart unburdened by plans to kill yourself in resignation. Rather, you slept with thoughts of the future: thoughts of how you could one day live, and maybe even rise out of the slums._

_At the back of your mind, you even began daydreaming wistfully of the demon who had given you the necklace you wore, and you promised yourself that you would never sell it. That you would always wear it, as a reminder of the man who had taught you the value of life. The man who had given you your life when you tried to throw it away. The man who had lifted you out of a dark place and shown you a brighter one, one with a future and hopes and dreams._

_And silently, your existence gained clarity, no longer shrouded by plans of death._

_Indeed, that man had breathed the life back into you._

_You would let go of it ever again._

_***_

You turn over in Lucifer's arms immediately.

Fingers ghosting over his cheek, your gaze darts between his face and his chest, trying to see some facet of his body that will prove his story true, prove the fact that he is the one responsible for why you didn't give up on life all those centuries ago.

"You—you—" Your eyes go round as you sputter out incoherent words, knowing that you want to say something but too overwhelmed by shock to know what.

Lucifer places a finger against your lips, silencing you. His usual soft smiles spring back onto his face and he cups your cheek tenderly before resting his head against yours.

_"Why?"_ You finally manage to ask. "Why did you do it? Why did you give me something so expensive? Why did you _care_ so much?"

There's a small pause, one where Lucifer seems to debate even answering your question, but when you feel the tension leave his shoulders, you know he plans on responding to everything you have to ask.

"It was right after I fell," He explains. "I was in the slums because I wanted to see the worst of the Devildom. Of the new world I had been thrust unto. And...as I was leaving, I saw you. You looked so lost and helpless, like you had given up on life entirely. And the small, angelic side of me which still hadn't been destroyed yet wanted to save you. So I did."

"And the necklace?"

"I tried to comfort my brothers in different ways after the fall. For Asmodeus, I wanted to buy him a traditional demon necklace...but I realized later that it was insensitive of me to give him something so materialistic when he likely wanted emotional comfort. That, and I realized later that he wouldn't have liked the choker anyway. The design I happened to purchase was rather..."

"If you call my necklace ugly one more time, I'm going to slap you."

A light chuckle spills from Lucifer's lips at that, and he leans back just the slightest to inspect the jewels running around your neck, running his thumb over the centerpiece tenderly, the same way he did when he first found you in the brothel.

"I had hoped that you would sell the necklace and move out of the slums. It would have been enough to buy you a small apartment in one of the downtown districts, and I expected that you would have found work. I actually went looking for you there, every few decades."

"So when you found me in the brothel in the slums..." Your voice trails off, slowly beginning to realize the kind of life you might have lived, had you played your cards a little different.

"I was beyond surprised. But relieved, as well." Lucifer sighs softly, running a hand through your hair. "I had begun to worry that despite my attempts, you had perished. But I knew it was you the second I saw the necklace. You haven't changed much, over the centuries."

A sudden warmth floods your chest, and you raise your hands to cup Lucifer's cheeks.

"Everything you've done for me..."

"Yes."

Not needing anything else, you throw your arms around Lucifer, burying your head in his neck as you embrace him in the tightest hug the world has ever seen. You want him to feel how thankful you feel, how grateful you are that he came into your life.

"Thank you," You murmur against his skin, pressing him tighter. Those two words spill from your lips over and over again, like a mantra that you can't stop repeating. "Thank you so fucking much."

"Don't thank me," Lucifer murmurs with a strange sense of despondency. You pull away from him, only to catch the barest traces of regret in his eyes. "Even after everything, I still couldn't save you from a life in the slums."

"You saved me from death," You blurt. "That's worth more than anything in the world."

Lucifer sighs. "But you weren't happy."

And even you can't argue with that.

You sigh, relaxing in Lucifer's arms, stealing a chaste kiss from his lips. You rest yours against his for a brief moment, savoring the sensation of closeness you get from holding him so intimately, until a sudden thought enters your mind.

"Lucifer," You begin. "The reason you were so insistent on me leaving the brothel and coming here as your private escort was because..."

"Correct." The demon sighs, closing his eyes. "I was partly responsible for getting you into that life, therefore I felt it was my responsibility to get you out."

And then, everything truly has clicked.

The reason Lucifer never touched you. The reason he was so insistent on buying you. His strange fixation with your necklace. The odd tenderness he seemed to hold for you, even from the start.

You _understand._

"You saved me," You whisper, looking up at him with earnest eyes. "Twice. You saved me twice."

And before the Avatar of Pride can even think of a response, of some casual remark to make his actions seem small, you've pressed your lips against his with newfound passion, your love no longer fueled by the simple fact that you adore who he is but by the fact that you adore who he was, as well. The demon who lifted you out of death and the demon who lifted you out of prostitution. The man who turned your life around two times, redirecting you by hand to guide you to happiness. The lover who had nothing in mind but your own well-being, gifting you the largest act of kindness you've ever been given.

"I love you," You murmur, shifting your body on top of his. "I love you so much, Lucifer. For everything you've done. For everything you are." You let your nails scrape against his chest, positioning your frame atop his legs. "I love you."

His hands immediately go to your thighs, fingers gripping them as he watches you with bated breath. Lucifer doesn't need to repeat your words back to you, for his gaze says it all, alongside the infinitely tender way his thumb runs over your skin, making you shiver under his touch.

You've been in this position thousands of times. As someone who worked as a prostitute, this was literally your job for the longest time. But the sensations that run through your body are entirely foreign as Lucifer rests his hands on your hips, taking control even as he allows you to remain atop him.

A shudder runs up your spine as he slips inside you, the sensation familiar but the intimacy completely novel. The sound of the room isn't filled with screaming moans or whimpering cries, but instead hushed whispers meant only for each other; words that no one else will ever hear, sounds meant only for a lover's ears.

For the first time, the sex you give each other is slow. And tender. And loving. There's no pressure to rush anything, no expected payment of Grimm at the end, no obligation to do anything you don't want to do out of the warmth in your heart.

You savor it.

"I love you," You whisper out as you feel your climax approaching. There are tears in your eyes, little pools of liquid love. You don't know if they've gathered from the sensations running through your body or the still-overwhelming realization of just how much Lucifer has done for you. Still, you can't bring yourself to question it as the demon's hands tug your body even closer while he says the words back, whispering them into your ear with such devotion that you know them to be true in your heart, mind, and soul.

Your body convulses over his as your body tears through its peak, unable to be held fully still even by Lucifer's firm yet gentle grip on your thighs, and the sensation is enough to send him over the edge with you, the short gasps leaving both your lips lingering in the air until their memory has faded.

"I love you."

You're not sure who said it, but the words hold true and they settle over your bodies like a blanket of intimacy as you gaze into each others' eyes, both out of breath but neither willing to say anything else.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, you remove your body from his and nestle yourself in his side, wrapping him in a careful embrace.

His movements are perfectly in sync with yours, his arms wrapping around you in a way that makes you feel like you could spend the rest of eternity.

Lucifer gazes at you briefly with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling to a hypnotic rhythm as he holds you tight. It's a moment before he closes them and leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours in a loving gesture.

But even as you shut your own eyes in turn, leaning into Lucifer's warmth, you understood the subtle implications of everything that has happened.

His firm grip around you is a reminder: he will never let you go again.

His forehead pressed against yours is a promise: his strength is yours to borrow.

His breathing, matched with yours, is s sign: your happiness is his priority, his ultimate goal.

And in light of all he is doing, consciously or unconsciously, as he holds you, you know the truth:

The world will never be dark for you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 5.1k
> 
> Notes: and that, ladies and gentlement, is a wrap! im going to be honest, my favorite part of writing lucifer is showing his soft side - one day im going just write a completely self indulgent fic where there's absolutely no romance and its just luci being wholesome and loving his brother like the wonderful big brother he is
> 
> Comment & Leave Kudos
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.


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